


Exhale

by Zialltops



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Daryl Dixon is verbally constipated, Daryl Dixon isn’t good with words, Enemies to Lovers, Fluffy, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Daryl/Beth, POV Daryl Dixon, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, actual happy ending, it gets fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-28 23:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zialltops/pseuds/Zialltops
Summary: May 5th, 1906Yuma, ArizonaDaryl never minded the heat, he was well equipped from the past twenty-nine years he’d been brought up in Texas, but the up coming Arizona summer was dry, unforgiving. His skin was barley thick enough.





	1. Yuma

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the one that rocked the entire fandom, and kept you up late at night. 
> 
> I will not drop trigger warnings because this fic will be chalk filled. If that is not your thing, please turn back know. 
> 
> Or forever hold your peace. 
> 
> -H

> **May 5th, 1906  
>  Yuma, Arizona**

The trip from Bisbee to Yuma takes Daryl Dixon all of three days. He uses the mid day to rest, water and feed his horse and mule.

Arizona is starting to warm up almost effortlessly, like the season had flipped from brisk cold, to smoldering days. Daryl never minded the heat, he was well equipped from the past twenty-nine years he’d been brought up in Texas, but the up coming Arizona summer was dry, unforgiving. His skin was barley thick enough.

The coal black Arabian under his saddle gave a huff when Daryl finally rolled into town at a little after ten. The streets were booming with people, dust kicking up under their feet. The time he’d spent in Arizona thus far hadn’t acclimated him to the dirt. Texas was green, lush.

He knew he missed home, something he’d never thought he could say. He didn’t know he could miss somewhere he never belonged.

Daryl was a capable man of nearly thirty years old, yet being this far from his family, his brother and his father and the ranch, it made his gut twist and cramp, his mind felt foggy, searching for some sort of familiarity in between the sandstone valleys and Choya.

He’d never had this kind of burden laid on his shoulders before. He was sent ahead after his father received word from his brother about the opportunity in Arizona. Rick lived on the outskirts of Yuma crossing, about a half a days ride. Daryl was meant to reach town and send to his father a map of the trail he’d taken, one he and Merle could bring 300 head of cattle through. He would then wait the following weeks until his fathers arrival.

His knees gave a ever present pop as he swung himself off the horse. He pats the horses withers while tugging the reins over his head and tying them to the hitching post. There’s a boy leaning against a railing on the deck, brush in hand. If one thing is universal, it’s a stable boy. He tossed him a couple coins and pulled a cigar from his coat pocket.

The boy has bright, golden eyes and dusty brown hair. He looks mute as ever. “Brush the mule down a lil’ extra, kid.” He felt like it was the first words he’d spoken in days and the doe eyed boy took the raspiness for exasperation as he jumped down from the deck in a single leap.

Daryl lit a match on the rough edge of his boot and brought it to the cigar perched between his dry lips. He drew in a few half hearted drags before pulling it between two fingers and stepping into the saloon in front of him. As soon as he entered the dimly lit building, sounds of laughter and drunk woman’s squeals filled his ears. In one corner, a chipper game of poker was happening. Six men sat around the round table, what he assumed to be working woman leaned up against their backs, trying to earn their buck. Daryl puffed in his cigar and dragged his feet up to the bar keep. He found a stool and ordered himself a strong whiskey.

After he finished his cigar and put back a couple swigs without a wince, he waved over the bar keep once again. The man had a white beard, mustache twisted up at the corners. He was a cozy looking fellow, Sharp and witty, like the world had treated him with care and strong will.

“What can I do ya’ for, stranger?” He had his hands placed on the edges of the bar, spread wide and waiting for a order, even though he looked like he was better at giving them.

“Lookin’ for my uncle. Should be ‘round these parts. Goes by Rick. Dixon.” He finished off his glass and the keep chuckled, his round belly bouncing. “Sheriff Dixon?” He nodded his head towards the door.

The legend himself kicked through the hinged doors, proud smirk on his lips as he spotted Daryl. Like he’d planned on barging in at that very moment.

People seemed to be fond of his uncle, a few clapping him over the back and shouting in his direction. “Little nephew!” He threw a arm over Daryl’s shoulder as he stood and gave his uncle a much needed greeting.

“Look at ya’.” Daryl pulled back to look the older man over. Rick had a way with making his place. He was easy to like, he was fair and he always had peoples better interest in mind. “Fancy duds, keepin’ this place in check?”

The conversation was easy with Rick. He’d always enjoyed his presence, when he was a kid. Rick had taught him how to fish and clean his catches. Rick would be the one to take him out on adventures, always made sure that he got to have somewhat of a childhood. He and Rick were close in age, only about ten years apart. Rick was just a young man when Daryl was busy nosing around, getting in his fathers way.

Rick ordered two more drinks and pulled the stool out of the way to lean against the bar. “Glad you made it, was gettin worried. Should of figured it would take you longer than most.” Rick sneered.

The badge shined brightly, pinned to his breast. Daryl chose to take the comment with a dash of understanding as he flicked the shinny metal. “Deserts everything ya’ said it would be. Dry, endless.”

Catching up with Rick brought out the carelessness in Daryl. Reminded him of a time when he didn’t have his family to watch out for, when it was just him and Rick, kickin’ shit down by the lake, stealin’ wild horses in the night. “Still got that old stud of yours?” Rick picked, pushing against Daryl’s shoulder as he teased.

“You know I do,” Daryl knew Mud wasn’t as stubborn and useless as Rick liked to make out. Daryl had won him in a poker game as a colt, Rick was still bitter about the whole ordeal, having been set to buy the fancy pony the following day. Mud was a hell of a horse, a lot like Daryl. Both had a head of their own, both steady and loyal to the bone. Daryl was the only one who could ever ride Mud, stuck by each others side through all the thick and every bit of thin.

“He took the trip hard, horse is all kinds of worn. Don’t blame him.” Daryl rolled his neck around on his shoulders and listened to it crack. “Need somewhere to hol’ up, nephew?” Rick had a thing about holding Daryl by his broad shoulders, like he was staking claim, letting the rest of the saloon know that Daryl had a place here. Like Rick knew how he would disclude himself from these people and this town.

Rick, the chipper guy he was, waived over a young looking man. “Rovia!” Rick hollered, all chest and powerful pronunciation.

The man that made his way over was nothing like Daryl would expect to find in Arizona. He was neat, clean, trimmed. Skin was bright and his eyes even brighter. His sly, almost innocent smile made Daryl’s blood boil. Why did he look so happy anyways?

He had on a crisp white button up and a black vest, sleeves folded, not rolled up. The chain from his watch hung from his pocket. He was slim, lean, rather small in stature. His demeanor was warm and inviting and all too self aware.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” The corner of his mouth seemed to quirk up and yeah- “You ain’t.”

Daryl didn’t like him.

Something about the long haired man was...off. His accent was almost posh, primed. Like he was educated or somethin’.

In the end, Daryl shook his hand anyways. It was firm, much to his surprise and soft, which he was not shocked by whatsoever. Had this man never worked a day in his life?

Ricks hand was steady on his bad shoulder as he spoke, giving him a squeeze, sensing Daryl’s reserved stance. “This is my nephew, Daryl. He’s in need of a hot bath and one of these fine young ladies to keep him company ’.”

Rick had a way of giving Daryl things he didn’t need, like a asswoopin’ when he was twelve for lettin’ out the cows, and more woman than he’d care to admit.

Clean cut, Daryl decided he’d call him, looked around the room. “Beth! Need some company over here, darlin’.” Even shouting, clean cuts voice was soft, everything but sharp like Daryl’s own.

Daryl didn’t bother to take a second look at her, he could see she was beautiful, black corset complimented by red skirt, her hair was as pale as her skin and she looked barley old enough to drink. She’d do just fine to wash him down.

Daryl took that as his cue to tap his uncle across the ribs. “Needin’ a room too, on you uncle.” Daryl gave Rick a half smile and let the girl lead him off.

He shoulder checked the younger man as he walked past him, the blonde, Beth, guiding him up the winding stairs. The saloon reminded him of home. Full of good times, better people, he could tell.

 

* * *

 

 

Beth drew him a hot bath, pale after pale as Daryl leaned back and watched. It took everything in him not to step in for her, he could do this himself. But he knew if anyone saw him cave to such a job, a woman’s job, they would loose any respect for him they might have.

Beth didn’t seem to mind, anyways. She wore a honey sweet smile the whole time. Daryl found her attractive enough, she looked like she knew what she was doing, like she was happy here. She looked like she was treated right.

“Ya’ like it hot?” She had a thick southern accent, as soft as her skin looked.

“Course, darlin’.” Daryl got up once the tub was nearly filled, undoing the buttons on his black shirt and pealing it off. He dropped the suspenders around his shoulders and let his trousers fall to the ground. Daryl didn’t have anything to be shy about, his body was nothing special, but it was probably better off than the poor girl was used to. He had no shame in this, she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to.

He sunk into the hot bath while Beth pulled up a chair beside him. He felt like he hadn’t bathed in a life time. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back while she worked soap into his scalp. “Where you comin’ from, cowboy?”

Daryl hummed at the soft scrape of her nails. “Texas, scouting to move cattle this way.” The girl behind him chirped pleasantly. “Plenty of room ‘round here for that! Jus’ you?”

Daryl liked the way their conversation wasn’t forced. “My brother and Pa. Bringin’ three hundred head. Where you from girl? Got yourself a thick accent.” He pointed out. She worked down his shoulders and he rolled his head forward for her. He reminded himself to tip her for conversation skills.

“Georgia, me and ma’ sis moved out here with our papa. He works the bar, his names Hershel. We pulled in here in the middle of summer last year.” Daryl didn’t respond, he could hear the words she was holding back on her tongue. “Trip was long, Sheriff Dixon brought us over to Paul and he put us all to work. Don’t know what we would be without him.”

Daryl could hear the admiration in her voice. “Paul?” Daryl felt like he was missing something, should he know who that is?

“Rovia? He owns the saloon and the hotel. He’s filthy rich-not that he’ll ever admit that.” He could feel her tense up behind him, her hands still on his upper back. “You ain’t gotta tell anyone I told you that. He’s real quiet ‘bout the things he’s got.” Beth seemed like the type to gossip but Daryl didn’t mind, honestly.

Back home, he loved sittin’ outside the church with the older hens, talking about sweet nothings, peoples business, things he probably didn’t need to know. Things he never cared to use.

“My mouth is sealed, girl.” He chuckled as her hands got back to work, almost aimlessly this time. She wasn’t pressing for pay, she seemed content with someone to talk to, instead of having men look her over, half naked.

“Anyways...he’s a real swell guy. Real young to have so much money. Ain’t never seen him angry, either. Knows what he wants type of feller. Like he ain’t ever been told no, ain’t no one ever felt like they needed to.”

Daryl could understand where she was coming from, clean cut was confident in his own skin, like he owned every emotion that spilled out of him. He had control over everything that happened in his life. He gets why that might not be such a bad thing, he could only wish for the same.

Beth finished washing his back and Daryl let her leave him to do the rest while she dressed his room, the stable boy bringing up his bags.

Beth was pleasant to have sex with, emotionless. It calmed his nerves and wrecked his tired muscles.

He slept peacefully for the first time in a week.


	2. Gila River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mud decides the desert ain’t so bad. Daryl listens.

 

> **May 6th, 1906**

His temporary room above the saloon is noisy throughout the night, but it brings Daryl comfort. He never liked being left alone to his own thoughts. He liked feeling as though help was footsteps away. Not that he needed it, should a problem arise. But it helped him sleep at night.

The sun is already high in the sky by the time Daryl wakes up the next morning. It takes him about a half an hour to coax his eyes open, make his muscles work with his brain. The light seeping in makes the bare hotel room feel nicer than it had the night before, when he was buzzed and sleep drunk.

There’s a dingy wallpaper covering the entire room, a sturdy looking desk and big mirror, where his belongings sit. When Daryl manages to sling his feet over the bed and get up he rummages through his things to get dressed. Everything is still there, so, at least he didn’t get robbed. That’s always a good sign.

He finds his clothes from the night before hanging over the back of a chair. They smell clean, feel less dingy. Beth must have had them washed. He throws on the trousers and a white shirt this time, fixing his suspenders over his shoulders with a snap. His boots are old and warm, lived in. He’s probably due for a new pair, but money isn’t falling from the sky and Daryl hadn’t pressed a nail through the soul just yet. He stuffs the key on the desk into his pocket and locks the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Daryl finds his way around town easily, finding it much easier to see in the morning light. There’s a store across the way, where he get himself an envelope and some note. Luckily, Rick is in his office, feet perched up on the desk with his hands behind his head and the chair leaned back. He’s snoozing, like a big ol’ fat cat.

“Morning, Rick.” Daryl gruffs in amusement as his uncle stirs awake in shock.

“Damn, kid. No one ever taught you to knock?” Rick mocks as he rubs sleep from his eyes and lets his feet fall to the floor. Rick knows that no one ever taught Daryl shit about manners, so Daryl doesn’t bother to respond to that statement.

“Need ya’ help, have to draw up the map for pa’. You know the land better than I.” He pushes the paper towards Rick who picks up a pencil.

They sit like that for half of the morning, Daryl explaining what his journey looked like, landmarks his father should see. Daryl always had a good sense of direction and a great memory. By the time the map is done, Daryl’s stomach is growling something fierce. He gets the paper folded up and Rick shows him to the post office to mail it off. His dad should have it by train in no time.

“Hungry? Rovia, his ladies made a fine breakfast. Sure they can whip something up for us?” Rick suggests, but they’re already stretching across the street to the now nearly empty saloon.

Daryl doesn’t get what the fixation was with Clean cut, why everyone looked up to him so much. He was just a man, a soft one at that. You didn’t earn people’s admiration and respect by being soft, ‘specially in the West.

He pulls up a stool at the bar top anyways. “Morning, Sheriff.” The bar keep is drying glasses from the night before, a gentle look on his face. “How you doin’ this morning Hershel?”

Daryl watches silently as rick and Hershel exchange conversation. At one point, Rick request the girls make them something to eat and Daryl doesn’t protest. He’s starving, he can only survive on jack rabbit for so long.

He sips on a hot cut of black coffee when the doors behind Hershel swing open, but it isn’t Beth, or any other the other girls he’d seen the night before.

The figure fits the description rather well, though. Clean cut.

“Good morning, Sheriff Dixon. Daryl.” He nods in their direction. He’s not wearing his vest today, he’s got an apron tied around his waist and his white sleeves rolled up this time. His long, primed hair is pulled back into a tie. Daryl makes a mental note to never let his hair get that long.

Clean cut sets down two plates in front of them. Rick takes it with a chuckle. “Now your doin’ the kitchen duties?” He joked. The other man leaned up against the bar, right in front of Daryl but his eyes were drawn on Rick. Daryl decided he didn’t like being hovered over. In the day light, he can see how crisp his features are, how his skin doesn’t have any flaws, no marks in sight, aside from a earring hanging from his left lobe. It’s a cross, Daryl doesn’t like it either.

“Gave them a day off, ladies worked hard last night.” He drew his attention over to Daryl, who felt all too close at this point. “Beautiful,” He hiccuped. Daryl hadn’t been listening up until this point and he dropped his fork, his eyes darting upwards, then over to Rick. “‘Scuse me?” He barks, his tone coming out a bit harsher than he’d intended.

Clean cut looks taken back, confused. “Said your horse, he’s beautiful.” He picked up a rag and stepped away from the counter as he dried his hands. “His name is mud. He ain’t like no one,” Daryl shoveled some eggs into his mouth. They were delicious, but he would never admit that to anyone. He could see under hooded eyes the way Rovia’s shoulders jumped as he snickered to himself.

“He sure likes the stable boys. Think maybe that horse is sweeter than he lets on.” He sounds like he’s getting at something but he soon disappears behind the doors again. Daryl likes him there, out of sight, out of his space.

 

* * *

 

When Rick is taking him around back to saddle up Mud to make the trip out to the river, Daryl takes the time to vent.

“I ain’t like him. Something off ‘bout that bloke.” He told him, their shoulders brushing, his stomach full and satisfied. “Paul? He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s a good fellow. Treats everyone right. I’ve never had a run in with him before, never had to. Takes care of his own.”

Daryl let’s it go, he can see the way Rick is roped in too. Paul has got everyone rapped around his little finger, Daryl tells himself that won’t be him. No fussy little prick will demand that kind of gratitude from him.

When mud is saddled up, Daryl can see the way his mane is braided, his tail seeming curlier than before, his head held a little higher. Mud is Polish Arabian, a proud looking horse with great durability. He stomped his foot, feeling fussy with the saddle on his back. He was ready to go.

Rick gave him direction to the river before he headed out for the rest of the day. He didn’t want to be cooped up in some dusty town. He wanted some space to get his mind together, to get rapped around such a drastic change.

The river is still cold, but Daryl catches himself a cat fish in the muddy waters. Mud is roaming around, his saddle and holder hanging on a branch. He’s busy eating the scarse grass and shrubs while Daryl cooks up the catfish. Mud likes it here mostly, so Daryl decides maybe the desert isn’t so bad.

 

* * *

 

The sunset in front of him guides him back to town. He’d heard loads about Arizona sunsets, their beauty. He doesn’t see anything spectacular but he understands how it might differ from the ones back home. Even the sky looks of desert, pink and gold.

It’s finally set when he unsaddles mud and let’s him into the round pen with the mule. He gives her a pat on the nose, just because she isn’t an Arabian, Daryl doesn’t deprive her. She works harder than both of them and she getting to be a old girl. Daryl thinks she deserves to graze the rest of her life in a lush pasture, but everyone has to pull their weight here now.

He makes his way inside to find the saloon is quieter this time around. It isn’t a holiday, and the drunk woman from the night before leashes around. Everyone seems content, seated. There is soft piano music and crisp laughter but it’s comfortable. Rick is at the poker table but the game isn’t the same as the night before, it’s all fun this time around. He orders himself a whiskey, this time on ice to sip it.

He lets his eyes drag across the room. Rick has already acknowledge his presence, he’ll make his way over when he feels it. He finds Beth’s figure on the deck, enjoying the warm night, but he leaves her be. In the corner, Daryl can see the piano that is making the beautiful music. Behind it is none other than Clean cut. His hands work almost effortlessly as he plays out something like a symphony, Daryl decides. Was there anything in this world that this man did without excelling?

Daryl takes his place beside rick for the remainder of the night, joining in on the next game. Rick had taught him everything he knew about poker, yet Daryl was always better.

The piano played for a couple more hours without stopping for more than a moment, and it soothes Daryl’s mind more than he’d like to admit.


	3. Just Some Drunk

 

> **May 12th, 1906**

The past week had passed in a blur. Daryl kept himself busy learning the vast land and working. He felt like it was getting hotter as the week went on.

Mud was handling it well, he was built for heat, Daryl, on the other hand was not. It was mid afternoon and he was on the plot of land his father had purchased to drive the cattle to. They had gotten it for cheap, dirt cheap.

He chuckles at the joke he makes in his head. If there was someone there to listen, maybe Merle, they would have laughed too. He’s managed to build Mud and the mule a pen where they could watch Daryl work on the house. He was working on laying the foundation, he hadn’t gotten very far but he was making progress. It was more than they had when he first arrived, a week before.

He had his shirt tied around his waist, trousers hanging low on his hips. He was dripping with sweat and there was nowhere to take shade. The sun was burning him to the core. By the end of this summer, Daryl was going to be darker than Mud.

Daryl wiped his forehead of the sticky liquid that clung to him as he straightened up, his back popping. Mud gave a whinny toward the east, the direction of town, about a thirty minute ride. There was someone on horseback approaching them. The horse was white, head to toe and the person who sat on their back had a on a slick hat, black, the brim was flat. Daryl could see black gloves on their hands yet he couldn’t make out the face, half covered by a black bandana.

It’s clean cut. Paul, perched up high on the white horse, most likely a mare as they approach. She’s tall, lean. Probably a thoroughbred. She looks like she is made to run. The only reason he knows it a ‘she’, is because Mud is pacing behind the posts, huffing in their direction.

Paul doesn’t dismount, but he does pull the bandana down around his neck. He looks like he’s been running, his horse is out of breath, and clean cut isn’t so clean anymore. His face is covered in dust. So much so that he almost doesn’t recognize the look on his face.

**_“Rick was shot,”_ **

Daryl loses his breath, suddenly. He feels like his lungs have been ripped out. His knees feel a little week and he’s lucky he has a shovel to lean against. Before he even works up the might to ask, Rovia beats him to it.

“He’s alive, askin’ for you. I could get here the quickest.” Paul dismounts now, quickly tying up his horse to the railing. Daryl is still breathless, staring at the ground in dissbelife. “Daryl? We don’t have all day here.” He says, even though he’s the one grabbing Mudds halter and slipping it on him. Mud allows it, and the mule doesn’t try to follow when Paul brings him out and ties him up to be saddled.

Daryl finally moves, he needs to before his eyes start to spill over in front of him. He can’t have himself seen as weak by any account. He rubs his face and picks up the saddle and blanket. “What happened?” He growls. It’s the only thing to keep his voice from cracking.

Paul doesn’t hesitate to respond, surprisingly he isn’t trying to waste Daryl’s time today, like he’s picked up on doing since Daryl arrived. He can see the pain in Paul’s eyes, the way his bottom lip gives a slight quiver. He also, laughs. He actually laughs, sniffles quickly and wipes at his cheek. Surly he’s wiping away a tear, Daryl decides.

“Just some drunk. Just some drifter, drunk at my bar and Rick was trying to show him out, sober him up. He pulled out his revolver and got Rick right in the hip.” The man looks like he wants to break. Daryl does his best to ignore talking about it, he knows he’ll break too.

He gets mud saddled up and he mounts him, his heals digging into his sides. He has trouble sticking to the saddle as mud rides down the the narrow path back to town. He knows Paul is hot on his trail but Daryl pays no mind to it. He feels like he gets there faster than he though imaginable. Mud is breaking heavily beneath him as he jumps off, not bothering to tie him up.

Once he makes it inside, he can see his uncle, sitting up with a large cloth pressed against his hip. He’s sweating, and up until this moment, Daryl hadn’t realized he was still shirtless.

“God damnit, Rick.” His voice finally shakes its hard shell and he’s hugging his uncle tightly. “I’m going to be okay,” Rick coughed and and hugged Daryl back.

He’s going to be okay, Rick has got to be okay.

The doctor pushes Daryl back to replace the cloth with a fresh one. Daryl pulls his shirt over his shoulders and starts to button it. He wished his dad was here, Merle. He wished they could tell him what to do, or how to handle this. Instead, he finds himself a chair in the corner and chest in his thumb, his leg bouncing.

Rick is going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

Daryl falls asleep in the chair, only waking every time Rick winces. Rick was asleep now too, he’d need all the rest he could get if he was going to heal any time soon. There’s a tap on his shoulder, which stirs him. It’s well past dark, he can hear rick stirring in his sleep. Daryl felt like he was scared to wake up the whole night, like he might find Rick dead when he did.

His eyes snap open at the figure beside him. It’s Beth, she’s in a long dress, she doesn’t look like she’s working much tonight. “Paul sent me, said you needed to be relieved.” She gives him a sad smile and squeezes his shoulder. “Go get some rest, cowboy. He’s gon’ be all right till mornin’.”

Daryl wants to fight the urge to climb into a proper bed but he gets up anyways. His bones creak in protest, something he’s well past uses to. Beth let’s him pass wordlessly. He doesn’t have much to say, and she doesn’t pry. He likes that about her.

He makes his way across the street, into the saloon and up the stairs to the room he called home for the last week. There’s a light on inside and when Daryl reaches the doorway, he finds none other than Rovia standing at the vanity, cloth in hand as he rings blood out of a white shirt. “Bastard got him by the stairs, this was the closest bin.” He tells him without so much as turning around. Like he knows it’s daryl, like he’d been expecting him.

Daryl doesn’t bother with him tonight. Paul had spent enough time getting on his nerves and he didn’t have the energy for it tonight. He kicks off his boots and rubs his brow. His lack of a response doesn’t deter Paul.

“I put mud away, I think he’s concerned about you. He paced the pen all night long. I let Buttons in with him to keep him calm.” He can hear Paul ringing out the shirt and setting it aside as Daryl sinks down onto the mattress, leaned up against the wall.

His mind feels clouded and weak, but wide awake at the same time. He’s got a pounding headache and he’s half sure Rovia is the cause. “He’s going to be okay, Daryl. You can get some rest. Son of a bitch didn’t make it out the door, believe me.” Daryl can feel him move, even with his eyes closed and his judgment altered. There’s a sinking at the end of the bed and Daryl’s eyes snap open, suddenly more aware of their proximity.

Paul is staring at him, there’s tension and Daryl hasn’t worked out why quite yet. Paul’s eyes are a soft foam green in the light and his hair is pulled back, still dirty, covered in blood from where he’d been tucking back loose strands.

“It’s okay to let it go Daryl,” there’s a hand on his shin, then. Daryl is on his feet as soon as the fire makes contact with his covered skin. “Out,” he says. His voice is hoarse and shaky, his heart is pounding in his ears.

“Yer ears work? Said get out of here.” He’s a little closer now, he can feel the rage building inside of him. He wants to hit him, he wants to slam his face into the desk and take his leave.

Paul looks taken back, the way his wide eyes scan Daryl like he’s some mythical creature, like he’d just crushed a puppy. “Daryl-“ he doesn’t make it through the sentence.

“I don’t know what kinda game your tryin’ to play. What’s your angle. But I ain’t no fuckin’ _fairy_ , you got that?”

There it was. The thing that had been on the tip of his tongue for a while. The thing he didn’t want to admit to himself, let alone out loud. He never thought it would come to this. He doesn’t know what else he should say, but he doesn’t have to. Paul is hurt, he can see that as he brushes past him to leave. Daryl feels like he should have knocked one of his pearly white teeth in.

As soon as Paul is gone, Daryl locks the door and collapses. He falls asleep like that, fully dressed in a blood stained shirt. His mind is too tired to comprehend the day, or the one coming for him tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

The thing about Yuma crossing is it’s far too small to fully avoid someone. It makes it even harder when the person you are avoiding owns the building your staying in.

 

> **May 15th, 1906**

It takes Daryl three days to realize Paul is almost ignoring him. Or, the incident persay. He acts like everything is okay, like Daryl didn’t see the hurt expression on his face when he’d left that night. Daryl is trying not to read into it but, aside from rick, it’s the most interesting thing going on in the small town.

Rick is healing. He’s back on his feet with a clean bill of health from the doc. Just a flesh wound, no damage to his internal organs. That’s when Daryl meets Abraham, Ricks second in command and a deputy, there to help Rick with his every day duties He’s a rough sort of guy, not a leader but he is loyal. Him and Daryl hit it off and he’s sure that Abraham is his first friend since he arrived, apart from Rick.

When he isn’t working on the house, Daryl is in town, playing poker with Abraham and Hershel. The saloon is quiet during the week days. Paul’s absence doesn’t go unnoticed by the group. By the third night when Rick finally has the energy to join them for a game, he’s the third person to mention it.

“He’s been real quiet,” Hershel tells rick as he deals out the cards. They leave it at that, Daryl doesn’t look too far into it, either.

They play for another two hours before there all pleasantly drunk. Rick is the first to make his way over to the sheriffs station to fall asleep on one of the cots, then Hershel. He makes it up to his room in the hotel and then it’s just Abe and Daryl. Daryl finds Abraham comfortable to be around. Hes funny, smart. He plays a mean game of poker.

Him and Daryl swap horror stores while they fit in one last card game, this time just for fun. There’s hardly any lighting and the town is quiet, aside from some shuffling around on the porch. His eyes snap up when the doors creek open and in stumbles none other than clean cut. He makes eyes at the men with a huff while he drags himself up the stairs. Daryl can smell him from the poker table.

”Poor guy, he’s been a wreck since he killed that fellow.” Abraham says quietly. Daryl looks at him, lost. “That drunk, the one who shot Rick? Paul was on him so quick. Like some kind of animal. Snapped his neck.” Daryl looks up to where Paul is leaning against the rail, probably to stop the spinning. He’s glaring at Daryl.

Daryl feels like he’s done something wrong. He feels like that for only a split second before throwing back a final shot and standing. “I should hit the hay,” he tells Abraham. He realizes once he’s on his feet just how wobbly his knees feel. He feels dizzy and light headed, like maybe he wants to throw up, maybe he wants to stumble to the hard wood bellow him. He knocks over a few chairs on his way up the stairs but eventually he makes it up to the top. The walls feel like they are swinging, or maybe it’s just him.

When he finally pushes his door open, there is Paul. Of course, where else would he be? Daryl feels like the last five minutes were leading up to this. Daryl’s so completely hammered that he doesn’t even know what to do with it or where to begin. Luckly, Paul is the one to break the ice.

“I want you to get out.”

It’s not what Daryl expects but he’s pretty sure it’s what he needs. Paul is leaning against a chair, his hair is messy around his face and he’s bright red from head to toe. “I want my home back. Want my friends back. I want Rick back.” He’s rambling, Daryl knows this because he starts to feel dizzy again. He leans himself against the door frame and looks at the ceiling. Daryl is trying his best to focus on what he’s saying because he’s pretty sure, the both of them in this drunken state have a lot to say. It’s still the most he’s ever heard Paul say and it’s hard to wrap his head around it all.

“Ever since you got here everything-everything’s been a mess.” Daryl gets it together enough to push himself off the doorway. “Excuse me?” He growls at him. “Like I aint’ know that? You think I want to be here? With you? Always starin’, walkin’ round like you own the whole damn town.” Daryl knows he’s throwing his hands based on the way Paul fills his lungs, puffing out his chest.

“I’m not staring.” Paul speaks between closed teeth, his fits are in tight balls at his side. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t know a damn thing!”

Daryl doesn’t notice their proximity until Paul is pushing past him, out into the hallway and down to his own door. Daryl slams his and flops into bed. He not going anywhere, and Paul can kiss his ass.


	4. Half a bottle of Tequilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. Please note the use of the use of the “N” word in this chapter is solely for the sake of story telling, that, while some may have their opinions about this, I believe it was vital for the reader to really capture the moment, and to understand circumstances that lead up to what Daryl does. It in no way reflects on my beliefs. Please read with caution.

> **_May 18th, 1906_ **

They stop pretending now. Paul no longer hides behind a fake smile when Daryl is around. He glares, openly. He doesn’t throw Daryl out, but Daryl knows that he doesn’t want him there.

He doesn’t leave him a cup of coffee on the bar before he leaves to work on the ranch. He doesn’t send Beth up to help run him a hot bath. Daryl hadn’t realized how he had it before, how he’d been walking around blindly and Paul had been making sure he didn’t trip.

It’s a Friday, so the town is booming with people. It’s not like the night he first arrived, but the saloon is full of travelers and locals. It’s the first night he sees Paul wondering around the saloon interacting. He’d been avoiding the place Daryl spent most of his free time. Again, it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Abraham, Hershel and Rick.

Tonight they’ve lost the poker table to a gang riding through town. They are a rough bunch, rick keeps his eye on them Incase they decide to start any kind of trouble. Daryl is leaned against a pillar in the middle of the room most of the night nursing half a bottle of tequila. It makes him feel fearless and light, like he can fly. Like he can do anything.

There’s a woman with the gang who looks like she doesn’t want to be there. She’s black, not that Daryl sees anything wrong with that. He doesn’t like the way the men poke at her. She looks strong, her hair tied back in long dreads and she wears a determined glare.

Rick is watching too, so Daryl takes another swig and walks up to the bar where Paul is standing. Daryl drags his spurs along the decking, listening to them ping. Paul doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to, Daryl know that he’s aware of him standing in front of him as he wipes down the counter top.

“Come to gloat?” He sneers quietly. He finally drops the rag and lifts his head. He’s much shorter than Daryl, Daryl can almost see the top of his head.

Daryl growls at him a little, he’s never been at good human communication. “No, asshole. Came for some water for the lady.” He gestures to the gang sitting at the poker table. There a loud laughter from them, one of them throwing some cards across the table. They are obnoxious, anyone in the saloon can see it.

Paul sighs at him heavily and looks around. “Look, I don’t need you scaring off my customers. Go burn holes in someone else, I’ll get her some water.” He turns quickly, dismissing Daryl’s request as he pours a glass of water. Daryl snorts at him and steps away, over to Rick who’s sat a few stools down at the bar.

“He’s something else, you know that? Don’t fuckin’ like him.” He says as he tilts the bottle back and takes a long, eye watering gulp. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Dixon?” Abraham comments from the other side of Rick. Daryl wants to hiss at him and break that finger pointing in his direction. No one needs to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do.

Rick clears his throat to get rid of the tension building between them. “Daryl, where is your dad? Shouldn’t they be here soon? It’s been well over two weeks.” He comments. Of course they are late, his dad has never stuck to his word a day in his life so what makes anyone think he’s going to start now.

As soon as Daryl opens his mouth to reply, there is shouting across the room. This time it’s different. It’s not cheerful. All of their eyes shoot over to the poker table where what Daryl assumes is the leader has Paul by his throat, laying on top of poker chips and piles of cash.

None of them move as the image plays out. The man has long blonde hair, he’s skinny but too tall for his own good. He pulls his gun from his holster and presses it to Paul’s head and Daryl starts to see red. If anyone is putting a end to that punk, it’s him.

“What did you say, pip?” The man growls down at him, pulling back the hammer, cocking it. “Ain’t need some little white cocksucker telling me what to do with my nigger.” He sneers.

The room is silent for a moment. Daryl feels like everything has slowed down incredibly, Rick has his hand on his gun, Abraham knows there are too many for them alone to handle, but Daryl doesnt take it into consideration. The alcohol coursing through his veins makes him feel like he can take them all, both hands tied behind his back.

He tells himself it’s for the girl, the one standing behind the group, looking like she’s either going to cry, or puke, or strangle one of them. He’s across the room faster than Rick can call after him.

He slams the man to the ground, causing him to let Paul go. Daryl bashes his face in with three swings. There’s blood flying and Daryl can feel bones break under his rage.

_“Daryl!” It sounds far away._

_“Daryl!” Like he’s under water._

He swings again, this time knocking his teeth back.

“Daryl!” This time it’s all there. Rick is pulling him backwards quickly, his gun is in the air, pointed at the rest of the gang. There hands are all up high, their leader is laying in a pile of his own blood, knocked out.

Daryl squirms out of their grasp and brushes himself off. He’s fuming, completely flushed from head to toe. Paul is staring directly at him, and he feels like...like his eyes are burning holes in him.

Daryl draws himself away and starts tying up the remaining members of the gang, taking their guns. Abraham and Hershel start to lift the lifeless man on the floor. Daryl knows he’s still alive, he’ll live, but he won’t forget the way Daryl’s fist feel.

The saloon is clearing quickly, no one wanting to be involved. No one wants to get hurt. Daryl starts to drag one of the member out the door and Rick pushes him out of the way. He’s angry, Daryl knows what angry rick looks like. It looks like his dad, and he steps aside.

“Get out of here, I don’t need anyone else almost dying tonight.” Rick growls at him. Daryl grabs a chair and throws it across the room as he storms out the back door.

 

* * *

 

He finds a flask in one of the saddle bags in the stable. It’s been around a hour since the town finally quieted down and it leaves Daryl with just his thoughts.

His body is far too tingly with left over adrenaline to even think about sleep. He keeps replaying the moment in his head, what he did, what he should have done. It’s going to drive him crazy, he thinks, taking another swig from the flask until it’s empty. He’s pretty sure it’s cheap rum, but it does the job.

He lets the room spin around him and his thoughts over power crickets chirping in the hay beside him. All he can see is blood, the way Rick looked at him, the way Paul looked at him. The way Paul’s eyes me him feel naked. It scares him to the bone.

He pulls himself up from the chair he’s sitting on to hunt for more booze, maybe everyone has gone to bed, maybe he can sneak behind the bad and drink till he drowns in it.

Before he even makes it over to the stable doors, they pull open quietly. It’s almost too dark to make out the figure, or maybe Daryl is far too intoxicated to think. There’s a beam of moonlight coming in through the open doors to the right of him that separates him and the exit. Daryl stands there, if there’s someone on the other side, he can’t see them, and he’s sure they can’t see him either.

When he’s about to open his mouth to say something, to ask who is there, Paul steps through the threshold and the soft blue hue of the moonlight bounces off his skin. He suddenly feels dizzier than he had ten seconds before. Paul’s hair is pulled back in a bun at the back of his head and he’s rubbing his upper arm with his hand. He’s nervous.

“I just...wanted to say thank you. I thought you’d be out here and I though, maybe you’d come inside but you didn’t and I didn’t want you to think no one wanted you to come back. Rick just wanted you to catch your breath before you did something stupid.” He sounds like he fit it all into one breath, his eyes are big and almost translucent.

“I ain’t done anythin’ stupid.” He wants it to come out threateningly, he wants it to be coated in anger but it isn’t. In fact, it’s quiet, almost soft. Like the words got caught in his throat. He swallows, feels his heart begin to race and he feels more sober than he has the whole night.

“We’ve all done something stupid tonight, Daryl.” Daryl’s stomach gets tight and he feels like he’s suffocating. Paul is stealing the only oxygen left in the barn. “What have ya done that’s stupid?” He gestures with a huff at the smaller man. Paul controls every emotion that pours out of him, he hears Beth say in his head.

He can see the way Paul’s throat bobs. “I...haven’t done it yet.” Daryl feels like the room is closing in-no, Paul is. Paul is getting closer and suddenly he’s out of directions to turn, not that he’s trying to get away, but if he had too.

His legs feel too heavy to move from where they are. Paul is about a foot from him, and from this angle, he has to look up at Daryl. It sends vibrations down his spin.

“I said I wanted to thank you.” He’s searching Daryl’s face for any sort of protest, Daryl knows he doesn’t find it as he sinks.

He sinks to his _knees_.

There’s a hand on his leg again, its fire, like last time. But it’s his thigh now where Paul is burning a path. “I wanted to repay you for defending me.” Daryl let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in when Paul finally loops a finger into his slacks. Daryl falls the rest of the way back against the wall of the stable, which is all of about two inches.

He watches, his mouth slack and his eyes half hooded. Paul doesn’t break his stare while he unbuttons and unzips and Daryl doesn’t know when he went from being fully clothed to his pants pulled down around his knees and Paul, his hands of extraordinary heat wrapped around him.

The first contact that Paul’s mouth makes is delicate, testing the waters, giving Daryl one last chance to stop him, one Daryl doesn’t take. After that, Paul doesnt restrain himself. He pushes his head down until Daryl is deep in his throat, thick and nearly pulsing.

Daryl decides he’s never seen anything more sinful than Paul’s obnoxious mouth stuffed by his cock.

He doesn’t want to make a sound, he doesn’t want to move no matter how bad he wants to hold onto something. He’s scared it will make this real.

Its only when Paul hums that Daryl finally, finally gasps and let’s his head roll backwards, his hands finding Paul’s hair. He digs his fingers into the messy bun and tightens.

Paul is sloppy and enthusiastic. He’s got one hand on Daryl’s hip and the other wrapped around the parts of him that he can’t reach with every bob. “ _Christ_ ,” Daryl quivers under Paul’s touch. He could probably cum from just the sight alone. Paul pulls off with a pop then returns to run the flat of his tongue along the underside of his dick.

Daryl wants to push back down his throat and watch him choke on it, watch him gag because he can’t take it all. It’s only when he hears his own gasps and pants that he realizes how quiet it is. But they aren’t just his sounds, Paul is moaning around him. There’s slurps and little sounds of desperation.

It only lasts a few minutes until Paul is bringing him over the edge. It’s white hot and wrecks his whole body. Paul takes every drop like he likes the way it paints his throat.

Daryl’s knees buckle and a face full of straw is the last thing he remembers. 


	5. Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should address the “slow burn” tags here. For Daryl, his emotions are the only thing he can’t cope with. These are the things you should expect to build agonizingly slow.

> _**May 19th, 1906** _

Waking up in the morning feels like the first breath he’s taken in a life time. He groans lowly, still not quite understanding where he is. It takes at least ten minutes for him to pull himself up into a sitting position. His mouth is dry and his head is pounding in his ears.

In a instant, the night before, images, they flood his mind. He feels panicked, picturing the way Paul had looked at him. What scares him the most is how he had let him, knowing it would change everything. Paul had his secrets now, he could choose to use them against Daryl should he do anything. Daryl feels like he wants to punch Paul square in the jaw but he knows, if he at most accuses him then it would look bad for him.

He was the one who tugged him down further. He was the one quivered watching spit and cum dribble down Paul’s beard.

The sun is well over top of him by now and it’s heating up inside of the stable. He pulls himself to his feet and tucks his shirt back into his trousers. His legs feel like they might give out on him at any moment, but he drags himself out the doors and into the saloon.

He expects it to be empty, for Rick to be ignoring him and Paul to be hiding out in his room. Instead, he finds them all sitting at the bar. Next to Rick is the woman from last night, she’s smiling and Daryl decides he doesn’t want to see her any other way. She has a infectious smile.

Paul is standing behind the bar, a present smile spread across his face. He looks content, the smug bastard.

“Look who finally decided to join us.” Abraham teases as he takes a long drink of what Daryl assumes is coffee. “Need some water.” He chokes a little on the grit in his throat. Paul hands him a glass and Daryl takes it quickly. Their fingers brush and it gives him goosebumps.

“Daryl, this is Michonne. She’s going to stay here in town for a while until she can get on her feet.” Rick is wearing a smile too. He wishes everyone would stop looking at him like that.

“S’ nice to meet you, ma’am.” He nods at her.

“I wanted to say thank you for last night. You didn’t have to do that for me.” Her voice is calming to Daryl, she has kind eyes this close, Daryl catches the way Rick beams at her. “S’ nothing, really. Someone had to put that prick in his place.” His eyes dart over to Paul. He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, looking down at the counter top. It’s like he feels Daryl’s eyes because he looks up suddenly. His pupils are blown again and Daryl seveespecially their gaze quickly.

“Any mail come for me?” He sits down beside Abraham at the bar and reaches up to fix his messy hair. “Haven’t seen nothin’ yet, nephew.” Rick is giving him a soft look that makes him want to hurl. “If we still haven’t heard anything in a couple days, we’ll get a party and go out to look for them.” He tells Daryl to settle his nerves.

Daryl is content with the plan. Part of him hopes they never show up. He wants this place to himself, these people and this saloon. He doesn’t want his dad to come in and stand on top of him like he’s always done. He makes Daryl feel small, like he has no control over his life.

This is the first time in what feels like forever that Daryl has made his own name. His own way. Where his dad hasn’t told him when to breath, when to speak. So far, he feels like he’s doing a pretty shitty job, but at least he’s doing it on his own terms. “Right,” he clears his throat. “Y’know him. Probably hold up in some town, chasin’ after women.”

Hershel comes out of the doorway with greasy smelling food and it makes him realize the emptiness in his gut. He takes a pice of bacon from the full plate and closes his eyes. There so much pressure behind his eyes he finds it hard to focus.

“How’s your hip?” He hears Abraham ask from beside him as he chews and rubs circles into his temples. “Hardly notice it. Hurts at the end of the day but didn’t stop me last night.” Rick says with a laugh.

Daryl opens his eyes to glare over at him. “Ya’ need to be more goddamned careful, Rick.” He tells him like somehow that will help, next time someone tries to shoot him. Rick rolls his eyes. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, kid.”

Daryl wants to argue that he isn’t a kid but he lets Rick have it. He knows he might not get that forever. Hershel is wearing a puzzled look when Daryl’s eyes land on him. “You okay, son?” His arms are crossed and his brow is raised.

“Headache. Drank too much las’ night. Passed out in the barn.” He hopes that it doesn’t sound nervous, but with the way Hershel chuckles makes him feel a little easy. “Can tell, you got straw in your hair.” He paints out. His face feels hot as he reaches up and pulls a few strands of hay from his hair.

For the rest of the morning, they leave Daryl out of most of the conversations unless he chooses to jump in. He uses the peacefulness to think.

All he can think about is _regret_ , it’s eating him alive. He’s not a queer, he’s never looked at another man like that. But then again, he’s never been looked by another man like Paul looks at him. It makes him feel tinny, like Paul’s gaze could start a fire.

He gets the chills when he remembers the way Paul’s voice had sounded last night. He has the urge to grab him by the collar and haul him over the bar top. He wants to connect his fist with his face for making Daryl feel like he has no control over his body. For turning him to mush in his hands, for making Daryl loose any sense of self preservation. He probably would have walked off a cliff last night if Paul had asked nicely.

He’s got to get out of here. He wants to go work on the house and get his mind off the thick, homey smell of the saloon.

Daryl gets up quickly and heads out the back door to saddle up Mud. He should have done this before even coming inside. Should have just ran away, maybe he would have never come back.

 

* * *

 

 

Daryl works well into the afternoon and decides, instead of heading back to town to face his fears, to face Paul, he’ll sleep out under the starts with mud and the mule and pretend none of it happened. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe if he says it enough he can convince himself.

As the sun starts to set, Daryl pulls out a bottle of whiskey he snuck from the bar from his saddle bag. He needs it to keep him warm and to help lull him to sleep. So far he’s got the foundation going, he has to let it set for a day before he can start on the walls. So, instead he starts work on a canopy to keep mud and the mule out of the mid day sun.

Daryl is half way through the bottle and feeling clumsy when Mud gives another whinny.

He’s never felt so much relief seeing two horses riding up instead of one. There’s a bloodbay and a tall white race horse headed in his direction. Rick dismounts as soon as he gets up to where Daryl has started putting up the posts for their cover. “Need somethin?” He says in a hoarse voice, glaring over to where Paul sits on top of his horse.

Rick looks at him with a almost disproving glare. “Came to give you some dinner and make sure the sun didn’t eat you up.” Rick says, like Daryl should feel like a asshole for the way he snapped.

“Thank you.” He lets his voice drop to something civil. Rick hands him a sack filled with biscuits and a jar of jam. The biscuits are still warm in the middle.

“Anything else?” He says with a mouth full of moist bread. He’ll take any excuse to get rid of the pair, Paul mostly. He also doesn’t want Rick prying at his personal thoughts because he knows Rick knows him better than anyone. He will see right through his walls.

Rick also knows when to take a hint. He sighs at Daryl and puts his hands on his hips. Daryl knows, even if he chases rick off, he’s family. It doesn’t mean he’ll be angry forever.

Paul still hasn’t said a damn thing and Daryl almost thinks he’ll get away with it until rick mounts his horse again and Paul, Paul swings his leg over and drops to the ground. “You go on without me, need to talk to Daryl.” He looks up at Rick who doesn’t question it.

_No._

_Take him with, Christ, Rick. Take him with._

Daryl feels like he sweating, but rick gives him one last glare before turning and kicking at his horses flank to gallop off. Son of a bitch.

“Shouldn’t have stayed,” He says through his gritted teeth as he sets down his food and picks up a hammer, taking another drink from the bottle.

“I need to talk about it, Daryl.” There it is, Daryl had hoped to god they could just ignore it. Daryl hoped it was a dream, maybe he didn’t have enough water and he hallucinated the way Paul whimpered at him the night before.

“God damnit, Paul. Can’t ya’ just leave me the hell alone?” He snaps at him, throwing his arms around again. He’s pretty sure he does that when he’s trying to put up walls, trying to separate himself from the situation and hold his ground. “You know I can’t.” Paul is too calm for Daryl to handle. He wishes he could ask someone what he should do here. How he should be handling this moment.

“Why the fuck not?” He wipes sweat from his brow and starts connecting planks of wood he’d brought in using Ricks old wagon. He’ll have to get more to finish the house since he was using some on the horses.

Paul is scuffing at the ground with his boot almost nervously. “I’m sorry. I should have given you a better chance to say no last night. I shouldn’t have...given you no option when you were drunk.” He admits.

“No shit?” Daryl barks at him. “Ain’t god damn fair. And it don’t mean shit, you got that? Anyone would of let you.” He wants Paul to think that the only reason he let him was because Paul had a warm mouth, not because he wanted it. But it was somewhere between the two.

“I just, wanted to give you a option.” Daryl swallows hard at the words. His throat feels dry. “This ain’t the end of the world, Daryl. I’m not...I’m not going to say anything to anyone, I’m not innocent here either. But I gotta try. I...” Daryl looks up at him from where he’s nailing together the frame. He’s rubbing his neck and his face is bright red. God damnit, he looks flushed.

“It’s not every day I get to...to feel good and I can’t just let it go. I understand, you aren’t that way, what ever you want to say but...” there’s a pang if embarrassment. “If I don’t try, I don’t know when I’ll get another opportunity. You can cave my face in now if you want to but you wouldn’t have let me do that last night if part of you didn’t want to.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Daryl spits out. His mind is reeling. While, he hates the idea, he’s so scared of what might happen to him if someone found out. He knows that part of what Paul is saying is true.

There is a part of him that let Paul get on his knees for him last night. That part of him is bubbling up inside and boiling over the top. “I’ll _kill_ you.” He says.

“I won’t hesitate, I’ll put a bullet right between yer eyes if you talk ‘bout this.” He points a accusing finger at him. He sees the crooked little smile Paul is trying to hide, the way his boot taps in the dirt, impatiently. He knows Daryl is caving.

“I won’t.” Paul nods. “Won’t tell anyone bout, bout you. Bout-“ Daryl cuts him off. “Ain’t no ‘ _us_ ’ you need to remember that. I’m doing you a favor.” He tells him, hoping that it means something to himself.

Paul looks downright giddy as he stands in front of him. He gives a quick nod and doesn’t move for a moment, not until Daryl looks like he’s flushed and staticky. He’s got currents running through his veins. Its the whiskey talking when he clears his throat. “Lay that blanket down.” He points. His hands are shy and he’s filled with nerves.

“On your knees, your face down.” Paul down right obeys. Daryl tells himself that he’s drunk, that this is why he’s doing this. Why he’s giving in to the way Pauls eyes glimmer in the scarce light in the sky.

He probably is drunk, honestly. The bottle is half missing and sober Daryl would be kicking his ass right now.

He watches Paul lay the blanket down in the dirt and push at his boots to remove them. Daryl doesn’t stop for a second to think, he knows if he starts doing that he’ll end up on his feet, running from it. He doesn’t want to run from it.

Paul is laying it out for him to take and by god he’s not going to let it go to waste. He’s doing Paul a favor.

Daryl decides, when he’s already dripping with sweat, his hand pressing into the small of Paul’s bare back and the other holding a mop of his hair, that fucking Paul has got to be earth shattering.

Paul begs, whimpers and cries. He presses back into it and _arches_ for it. Daryl can see that Paul has been going crazy over this and he can only imagine what it’s like going this long without even a touch.

Daryl doesn’t finish this time, his mind is far too clouded and he’s got whiskey dick, but Paul falls apart after a few minutes. He clenches up tight, so tight it almost hurts. Daryl has never experience a heat so welcoming. He’s never fucked a woman like this before.

Paul likes to be held down, he has a filthy mouth and he gets off at the way Daryl calls him a whore for wanting it so desperately. He likes the way Daryl degrades him and puts bruises on his skin so he’ll have something to remember it by tomorrow.

When Paul is spent, Daryl stands on weak knees and fixes his clothes. “Clean up after yourself when you leave.” He huffs as he walks over to the pen and slips a halter over Muds head.

Paul is still a sticky mess on the blankets when Daryl takes off bareback on mud toward the river, where he decides he’ll hide from his problems.

The sex sobers him up and there it is, back with a vengeance.

 _Regret_.


	6. Desperate

That’s how it happens. How Daryl all of a sudden seems to orbit around Paul, like he’s the sun and Daryl needs him to see, to keep warm, to breath.

He finds himself watching Paul’s every move. At first, it’s because he’s scared Paul is going to tell someone, that he’s going to say something suggestive but Paul has never seemed better. He’s back to the cocky, know it all, I’m better than you guy he first met.

Then it becomes more than that. He finds himself watching Paul work the bar, the way his abdomen twists, his tight shirt sticking to his taught muscles. He notices the way his biceps look when his sleeves are halfway rolled up.

It drives him insane when Paul pulls his hair back into a bun, even more so when it falls to his shoulders in bouncy waves.

He thinks he’s infatuated. He’s never looked at a woman like this before but, lord have mercy, no woman has ever looked like Paul Rovia.

> **May 23rd, 1906**

It’s earlier than Daryl is used to being up. As the days pass and still no word from his father, the man has a hard time sleeping through the night. It’s the only thing that keeps his mind off of the long haired devil he hears stirring around in the kitchen.

Daryl is leaned against a post on the deck, his arms crossed and his head resting on the post. It’s a cool morning, the sand in the street is purple and grey. He hasn’t heard a sound from the town in the twenty minutes he’d been standing in the same position.

It’s been seventeen days since he first arrived in Yuma, sixteen since he sent the letter. If he gives the train four days to get to them, then that would mean his father and brother would be on day eight of a four day long journey. They should have arrived already. They should be close.

He’s mid thought when he hears the deck creak behind him. He turns his head to find Paul beside him. He takes a mug from his outreached hand and takes a long gulp. He’s so tired, he wishes he could sleep, but he’s been living on coffee the past two days.

“I’m going to look for him today.” He tells him without looking over. He can feel how close Paul is standing, despite the fact that there is an entire deck he could be occupying instead.

He looks over when he feels those scorching eyes on him. “I’ll go with you,” Paul says to him quietly. His voice is always soft sounding. He doesn’t understand how people don’t see it in Paul, how different he is. Or maybe it’s something wrong with Daryl for paying that close of attention.

Daryl takes another drink and closes his eyes to savor it. It’s hot, it makes his chest feel warm. He’s halfway dressed in just a pair of slacks, his shirt untucked and he missed a few buttons. But he feels cozy, like he doesn’t have to be worried about always being ready for a fight when he’s in this town.

“You need to stay here, take care of ya’ place.” He feels like he’s leaving for battle. Paul doesn’t seem to accept that, but he doesn’t reply. He just looks off into the buildings across from them as he takes a drink from his own coffee mug.

They stay like that till the towns people start to stir. Daryl finishes getting himself dressed before making his way down stairs to the stables across the alleyway. He finds Mud already saddled, Paul’s white race horse standing beside him. She’s easily got three hands on him, but mud seems infatuated. Damn horse. Damn Paul.

“You ain’t comin’.” He says before he even sees Paul. He hears him approaching from behind. “You ‘ain’t’ telling me what to do.” He mocks Daryl’s accent as he stuffs food into his saddle bags. He looks like he’s prepared for a long trip, with blankets tied to both of their saddles.

Daryl knows this had ‘bad idea’ written all over it, but he doesn’t know what kind of options he has. Rick is hurt, Abraham has to stay and back up Rick. Hershel is far too old to be out fighting someone else’s fight.

He sighs and rests his hands on his head. “Fine, but you keep to yourself, don’t go ramblin’ on all day long. If I knew this was goin’ to come to this, would of left hours ago.” Paul has a habit of not taking Daryl seriously when he means it the most. He just wears a little smirk and does what ever he pleases.

Daryl let’s him get away with it. Beth was right, people didn’t say no to Paul Rovia. He was a sneaky little bastard who did what ever he wanted to.

Daryl climbs onto Mud and adjusts himself in his seat. Paul is still inside when he starts to leave, hoping to get a head start on the younger man.

Paul catches up before Daryl gets all the way out of town.

 

* * *

 

The ride proves to be long and grueling. Paul doesn’t let him down when it comes to making it hell. Paul is nice to look at, but sober, Daryl still finds he talks too much. He wishes he’d left Paul behind and done the trip alone. He’d done it once already.

Paul is in the middle of talking about something that happened the day before when Daryl lets out a growl. “Do you ever stop talking?” He looks over at him. Paul’s horse sits higher than his but Daryl still fees bigger. Paul looks at him like he’s suddenly tiny, like Daryl said something that hurt his feelings.

“You don’t really like me very much, do you?” Paul’s voice is softer now. Even when Daryl tries to shut him out, Paul keeps talking. “Not particularly.” He says shortly.

It’s actually silent for a moment, Daryl feels like he’d be comfortable if it went on like this for the rest of the ride. He can’t think when Paul is blabbing.

“Then why do you fuck me?” Daryl wants to ride Mud straight off a cliff. He doesn’t like to talk about these things when he’s drunk, he’ll be damed is he talks about it while sober.

“Because you ask me to.” He huffs, pulling a flask from his breast pocket and taking a long drink. The whiskey doesn’t burn enough to wash away the shame he feels in his gut.

“I hate you.” He hears Paul say. “I hope you know that. I hate how stoic you are, like nothing bothers you.” Daryl actually chuckles at that. The sun is slowly dispersing from the sky and there is still no sign of their cattle or his brother and dad.

“Then why do you let me fuck you?” He retorts, and if he isn’t mistaken, the thinks he’s just made a joke.

“Desperate times, Daryl Dixon’s. _Desperate times_.”

They ride in silence the rest of the night. Daryl finds is to be agonizing, wishing he could have just let Paul go, maybe he wouldn’t have to feel the bitterness radiating off of him. Maybe he could have kept this off his mind, kept Paul off his mind.

He can’t help the way his thoughts wonder, he can’t help the things his body craves from the younger man. He knows, mentally, he wants nothing to do with him. He wants to be miles away from Paul and his painfully manipulative ways of seducing him. He knows the only reason Paul does this is because of his own sexual desires, and Daryl, he’s got no god damn idea why he wants those things too.

Maybe it’s because it’s wrong, maybe it’s because he’s never been aloud to have something he wanted.

Maybe it’s because he knows how much his father would loath him if he knew the way he pins Paul to the ground and unravels every fiber that holds him together.

 

* * *

 

After they set up a place to camp for the night and they have some warm food in their bellies, Daryl tried to get some sleep. His body is exhausted but his mind is reeling. The two never seem to be on the same page anymore.

The desert is eerie at night, he feels like something, someone is watching him from the canyon walls. He knows these mountains are scattered with cougars and coyotes but he can’t shake the feeling that keeps him wide awake.

He’s so gone on his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice the way Paul is suddenly much closer. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend he’s asleep, maybe Paul will give up and go to sleep himself.

He knows he sees right through him when he sighs and pokes his shoulder. “What do ya want.” He says without opening his eyes. “Can’t ya see I’m tryin’ to sleep?”

Paul isn’t phased by Daryl’s rough voice. “I can’t sleep. It’s too early.” He says. “And you have a tarantula on you.”

Daryl is pretty sure he hasn’t moved as fast as he did in that moment in his whole life. Paul is giggling, downright giggling at him. Daryl has goosebumps all over and a shiver runs down his spine as he watches the large spider drop to the dirt below him.

He goes to step on it but Paul puts a hand over top of the critter. “It’s not going to hurt you,” he watches him scoop it up with two hands and walk it away from them. He’s sure he’s never met anyone braver than Paul Rovia.

“That thing could have bit me,” He says, breathless as he checks the area for more. Paul continues to laugh at him, though Daryl could find it less amusing.

“They rarely bite, Daryl. The most they will do is leave a few hairs in you. We can throw some more wood on the fire and it should keep them away.” Daryl doesn’t disagree but he’s not going to admit he’s afraid of a few bugs.

He pulls his blanket closer to the fire but he doesn’t lay down, if he wasn’t tired before, he defiantly isn’t now.

“Well, ya got me up. What do ya want?” He sneers over at him and Paul looks at him like he knows what Daryl is getting at. “Not that, asshole.” Paul bites back. “I just wanted to talk, something. Couldn’t just sit there anymore. Don’t like silence.”

Paul has never told him something personal like that. Even if it’s something as small as what he likes and doesn’t like.

“That’s why ya always play that piano, huh?” He looks over and Paul just nods. He’s got his knees tucked up to his chest and his chin is resting on them. Paul looks...cute.

_Son of a bitch._

“I learned to play because no matter how much money I paid, no one wanted to play forever.” He chuckled to himself. Daryl can see the fire burning in his glassy eyes. “Why dont ya’ like silence?” Daryl finds himself wondering. Paul gives him a half smile and shakes his head. “Another day, cowboy.”

Paul talks about the desert instead. The animals in it, the plants, their uses. Daryl catches himself listening with wide eyes. Paul knows the land better than anyone. He can tell that Paul is passionate about this place and he can understand why he didn’t let him crush the spider.

“Whats a Haboob?” The word sounds funny in his mouth. “It’s a dust storm that comes before a monsoon.” Paul is giggling again, it sounds like music and Daryl could probably get used to hearing it.

A small part of him wished he listened to Paul more often, he’s one of the most interesting people Daryl has ever met.

“Yer not as bad as everyone said ya’ was.” Daryl says as he leans back against the blanket, his bare feet warm in front of the fire. Paul gasps and puts a hand over his heart like his feelings are hurt. “Everyone said I was bad?”

Daryl can’t help it, he smiles. “They said that ya ain’t ever been told ‘no’, that ya always get what ya want.” Daryl accuses him. Paul smirks and shrugs his shoulders. “Isn’t a lie. I got you, didn’t I?”

Daryl thinks about it and yeah, Paul has got him pretty damn good.

For the rest of the night, Daryl lays on his side, leaning up on a elbow and listens to Paul talk. He talks about how he met everyone and Daryl laughs at the story he tells about Rick walking in on the saloon getting robbed and accidentally becoming the sheriff as a result. He asks about how he met the Greens out of curiosity and Paul teases him about Beth with a pang of worry in his voice.

Eventually, Paul is snoring quietly beside him, his mouth half open and drooling. Daryl stares at him for a little while before rolling over and managing to fall asleep.

_Paul has got him pretty good._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE BE AWARE the Apache wars actually happened about 50 years before this but I’m rolling with it for the sake of story telling. Also, big ol’ plot twist at the end.

  

 

> _**May 24th, 1906** _

 

When morning comes, Daryl is woken by the chirping of birds. The fire has cooled to ambers and there is light bleeding into the sky, hues of purple and pink. His eyes come to his senses before the rest of his body but when it does, there is a heavy weight on his chest. He panics for a moment, feeling as though he can’t breath, like his lungs feel trapped inside his rib cage.

It doesn’t take long to realize the absent weight is in fact, Paul, his messy hair draped over Daryl’s halfway open shirt, he’s drooling into the dip of Daryl’s chest and he’s snoring quietly. He doesn’t stir, even when Daryl’s heart begins to hammer in his chest.

Paul makes his skin feel hot and tingly. He feels like he needs to move, needs to sneak out from under him. If paul wakes up this close to him it’s going to cave in the walls he’s been putting up. Sober Daryl would never let him this close, sober Daryl would never have been this open and welcoming.

But he is sober Daryl and it makes it all the worse.

His breathing has quickened to steady pants now, panic has set in and he feels frozen in shock. He’s never woken up with anyone before, especially laying on his chest. He’s never woken up with a man laying on his chest like it’s the most comfortable place on earth.

The older man is so damn lost in his thoughts he barley registers the way Paul’s fingers tighten around his abdomen. It isn’t until he’s turning his head and burying his face into his side that Daryl, consumed with static, finally comes to. “Paul,” he leaves his words open, hoping the man sprawled across him will respond. He just groans, burying himself further. Daryl can feel the way his hot breath paints his ribs, his hair tickles his chest and up until that moment, he hasn’t realized Paul’s thigh was draped across his lap. He was completely and utterly trapped under the younger man.

“‘M cozy.” He groans, tucking his entire body closer. Daryl could be comfortable if he wasn’t so riddled with this anxious feeling. Anyone could come up on them, anyone could find him like this, two men, pressed together in the morning light. “I can feel your heart pounding.” He says like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His hand is moving now, his finger tips tracing over the dips in his ribs. “Relax, Daryl.”

He doesn’t want to admit to himself that the soft touches leave his skin burning. He doesn’t want to admit the way his breathing slows and his heart becomes steady again. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It smells like camp fire and crisp air and Paul.

Paul, who has a faint scent of vanilla and coffee, mixed with a scent that is all his own. It’s calming, sweet and musky. “We don’t have to get up yet.” The words put him at ease for a few more moments, waking up slowly, lazily. He falls in and out of sleep, the sky looking a different shade of soft blue every time. Paul continues to tickle his fingers up his side and it give Daryl the courage to reach up with a shaky hand. He runs his fingers through his long honey brown hair. It’s softer than he’s expected and based on the way Paul purrs on top of him, the younger approves.

They lay there like that for what feels like a lifetime before Paul drags himself off and leans against his palm on their shared blanket. He has sleepy eyes, a quaint smile on his lips. “Anyone ever tell you that you make a great pillow?”

Daryl huffs at him and stretches his arms above his head before pulling himself up. “Ain’t ever had someone use me as a pillow.” He told him as he pulled on his boots and fixed the buttons on his shirt.

Paul didn’t respond, he just sort of stared at Daryl for what felt like too long. “Coffee?” He swallowed thickly, trying to drag Paul’s attention away from him. He hated when Paul stared at him like he was looking right through, like Daryl was made of glass and Paul could see everything.

“I’m on it,” paul started up the fire again and made them some coffee in the kettle he’d brought with. Daryl knew he packed it, paul had coffee every morning. He was deaf, dumb and lame if he didn’t have coffee in him.

 

* * *

 

When they managed to get out of the canyon, the sun was already scorching. It was almost June, Daryl knew he still had months of this to go, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to take it.

The one thing that did make it bearable was Paul’s content quietness. He seemed to be lost in his own head but Daryl would catch him with a small smile warn on his face every couple of minutes. “Whatcha’ smilin’ ‘bout?” He finally broke the silence.

Paul gave him a shrug and grinned. “Just thinkin,” Daryl raised a eyebrow at him. “How to didn’t punch me in the face for sleeping on you. That’s a win for me.” He jokes. Daryl rolls his eyes and continues to ride, not bothering to pursue the topic.

Daryl is looking off in the distance at a few clouds, praying they will get closer when he spots a black cow, just around a hill.

He drives his spurs into Mud’s side without a warning as he runs up on the lone heifer. The cow moo’s at him and starts to walk off, leading him closer. There’s three, then eight, then fifteen. “Paul! We f-“

His words are cut off by a sharp jolt to his chest, knocking him straight off his horse and onto the ground. All he sees is dark skin, what he thinks are feathers, and a loud hollering in his head before he blacks out without a fight.

 

* * *

 

> _**May 21st, 1906** _

_It’s Monday. After hours of begging from Paul, Daryl finally breaks down and fixes the tap Paul has that runs water to the bar from the well house. Paul wasn’t very inclined when it came to working with his hands, Hershel seemed to find it too amusing to help the younger man out. He just sat back and listened to Paul whine while Daryl tried to get someone to make him something to eat._

_Paul wouldn’t agree until Daryl fixed the damn tap. So he did. He spent forty five minutes running the new copper hose and when it was finally done, Daryl managed to get the stew he’d been smelling out of Paul._

_The damn kid just smirked at him the rest of the night. No one said ‘no’ to Paul, not even Daryl. “Tonight?” He said, quietly once everyone started bedding down for the evening. Daryl didnt look up from his bowl, just continued to slop potatoes into his mouth. He nodded, dunking bread into the broth._

_Paul looked snug in his button down and slacks, a pair of black suspenders the only thing holding him together. He wore his hair in a bun and it made Daryl’s heart thump a little quicker, not that he would ever fess up to such a thing._

_“Need a drink,” he said with a full mouth. Paul didn’t look at him with disappointment. Paul didn’t sigh, let his shoulders drop as he turned around and grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf._

_At least, Daryl told himself that._

_Four shots in and Rick was the last one headed out the door to get a early start on the next day. Daryl finished off his bread and pressed the bottle to his lips, pulling in more than what measured as a shot, for good measure. “Let’s get to it then,” he let the bottle hit the wood countertop with a thud. Give him ten minutes and that last one would hit him like a sack of bricks._

_“Can you at least act like you want it?” Paul groaned at him, pushing open the door that leads into the kitchen area. It still smelt like stew in there, mixed with coffee. A smell the building would probably never lose._

_“It’s a favor,” he gruffed out, though, he knew by now that this favor went both ways. Paul was nothing but a tease and Daryl could see it. He didn’t miss the way Paul played the piano while he worked, humming along something soft, something sweet. He didn’t miss the bedroom eyes Paul gave him when he pulled his hair up and tied it in a knot._

_“Fuck you,” Paul said, grabbing a handful of Daryl’s shirt and yanking him through the back door, into the stables across the alleyway._

_Daryl’s pupils were blown, his jaw hung and swayed like it was on hinges while Paul worked at his shirt. That was one thing he’d come to realize, was that Paul liked when they were both naked. He would press his sticky body to Daryl’s and it felt like a match against phosphorus, all it took was one flick and Daryl was on fire._

_“Please, Daryl.” He gasped quietly when Daryl finally sunk his teeth into the base of this throat and pulled him down onto his lap. They didn’t kiss, Paul didn’t even try. Daryl knew the younger knew better. This wasn’t supposed to be intimate, all this was was desire and need, something they both had to have to make it through the next day._

_  
Fucking Beth the first night settled his neeves. If that was what this was about, Daryl could do that same thing, over and over again. She would let him._

_But fucking Paul settled his soul. It burned down forests of anger and irritability. It took every ounce of frustration he had bottled up and melted it away._

_“Wait-wait.” Paul panted on his neck when Daryl’s fingers ghosted over his hole, teasing his heat. “We should go up to the loft.” He said quietly in Daryl’s ear, ragged breath painting the crown of his it._

_Daryl lifted him easily in his arms and carried him up the ladder._

_Paul, laid out in the straw atop the loft, in the full moon light coming in through the hay door, is something Daryl will never be able to compare something to. He’ll never be able to relive this moment, never be able to smell the straw, the horse feed, the soap Paul used to wash with. He’ll never get to sweep the hair out of Paul’s face and relish the smile the grows on his lips._

_Paul giggles and even in the soft light, Daryl can see the way his cheeks turn pink. For second-just a second, Daryl forgets what he’s doing here. His eyes dart across the younger man. His neck is thick, sweeping into large, muscular shoulders._

_“Daryl,” he says, still smiling at him._

_“Daryl please,”_

“Daryl-please you gotta wake up.”

Daryl inhaled deeply. It doesn’t smell like horse feed and hay-it smells like...like camp fire, and blood. His eyes shoot open, his muscles flexing against the binds around his wrists. Panic sets in as his vision comes too. It feels like late afternoon, the air isn’t so hot anymore.

“Daryl? Jesus, I didn’t think you’d wake up.” He can hear the worry in Paul’s voice and he wants to settle it. It makes him ache-or, perhaps it’s the stinging in his side. Paul’s head tilts back against his shoulder and he sighs. “Apache. I’m so sorry-I didn’t...didn’t even know we were on their land, god, I should have known.”

He knows Paul is beating himself up over this, he knows he thinks he’s stupid, but how could he have know? “Father always...always made sure I knew.” He said, shaking his head.

“Where are we?” Daryl grunts, finally looking up and taking in his surroundings. They are tied to each others backs, in what looks like the middle of a small village. There is a native man watching them, he’s older, a spear in hand. Daryl growls at him, wanting to yell, scream. He wants to bash his skull into the closest object.

“Stop-I’ve tried. He doesn’t listen.” Paul says. Daryl can feel Paul turn to look at the man beside them, guarding them. Paul says something Daryl can’t understand, like he’s speaking a different language.

“What was that?” He rasps. “He won’t speak to me. He understands me but he won’t respond.”

Paul can speak in a native tongue, of course he can. He says something else and finally, finally the man snorts at him and retorts back. Paul sighs heavily. “He said they have three white man. Why three? I though it was your dad and brother?” Paul asks. It stings Daryl, makes him feel raw and torn open. “Aaron. He’s my pa’s son-ain’t my brother. S’ a son of a bitch.” He growls.

He can feel Paul’s hand now, searching for his through the ropes. He laces their fingers together and Daryl’s sighs, squeezing it.

They sit like that for what feels like forever, Daryl’s mind is reeling through thoughts of Aaron coming to Arizona. He’d hoped he would stay, no-prayed. He didn’t want him there, he didn’t want him to taint the land, the people in it. He would put a distasteful feeling in peoples mouths when they uttered the word “Dixon”.

Finally, a second man approaches. He has more hide in him, more feathers and his arms are painted in red stripes. He looks like a leader. He motions to the two other men behind them and they begin to lift the two. “Don’t fight them,” Paul tells him quickly. He listens, for once in his life, because Paul seems to know what he’s talking about.

The apaches drag them along the dirt pathways, past their huts made of pelts and paint. Ahead of him, he can see his father, Merle and Aaron tied to a post, standing. Their heads are hung, dripping sweat and blood. “Pa!” Daryl shouts and the dark haired man looks up. “Would ya’ look at that.” The mans chuckle is weak and half hearted.

“Thought you’d come, thought you’d get caught, too.” Daryl feels a pang in his chest at the words. Of course he thought he would fail.

All the while, Paul is behind him, speaking quietly to the decorated man pulling him along. The man seems like he’s listening, that is, until they are tying Daryl to a post and not Paul. Paul, who is being held up by the back of his shirt, staring at Daryl, his eyes wide and glass like. “I’ll be okay-I’ll be alright.” He pants.

Daryl tugs at the ropes and lets out a groan in desperation.

_Don’t take him, god, please, don’t take him._

When they are gone, it’s another man watching them, silently, a stoic look plastered across his face. He was void of any sort of emotion. Daryl looks over at his father, who is tied across from him. Merel is behind Daryl, Aaron behind their father.

“I’m sorry,” He breaths, letting his head tip back against the post. His father just rolls his eyes and sneers. “Don’t worry-didn’t expect much. Can’t disappoint if I never held ya’ that high, can ya Daryl?”

Daryl let’s his head hang, defeated like the rest of them.

 

* * *

 

It’s dark when Paul returns. He has his stride back, his shoulders are held high. Daryl has all sort of emotions welling up inside of him at the sight, he thought he’d never see Paul again. He thought he would be killed, and Paul-Paul would have just as gruesome of a end.

But there he is, proud and triumphant. “They are going to let you go-but they are taking half the cattle.” Daryl’s eyes snap over to his father. He’d rather die than to admit defeat, he knows this. The man let’s out a low growl at Paul.

“Who do you think you are-givin away all my cattle?” The man sneers. Daryl know that look, the fire behind his eyes. They mean business, they mean someone’s world is going come crashing in.

When Daryl blinks over to Paul, he finds the same firey determination behind his pale green. “My name is Paul. Paul Rovia,” he says, crossing his arms. “What might yours be?”

People rarely challenged his father. Paul, as small as he is, stands tall to such a challenge.

“ _Negan_.” He sneers as one of the Apache men cuts his ropes.

“Well, Negan...I just saved your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh shit, there it is. Drop a comment, they inspire me!


	8. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ BEFORE STARTING THIS CHAPTER. 
> 
> I chose Aaron to play this character because I wanted Daryl to have a good relationship with Merel and Aaron is a very charismatic person, which I needed for this role. Also, get ready for some fluff because your going to need it for the next couple chapters. Cheers!

Daryl is the last to be untied. He watches his father brush past Paul, colliding shoulders with the much, much smaller man. He bites his tongue, watches as Aaron and Merel also pass him. Paul doesn’t look fazed, just closes his eyes and chuckles to himself. His hair is hanging at his shoulders, his hands are folded together in front of him and he sighs once they have stepped away.

When Daryl is finally cut loose, he peers over Paul’s shoulder to where his father is striding past the people. “Ya son of a bitch.” He grunts, stepping over to him and dragging him into a bone crushing hug, pressed tight against his broad chest.

“Easy, cowboy. I’m okay.” He pats his arms and sighs never the less. Daryl pulls back instantly, looking down with shy, hooded eyes. He fixes his shirt and vest before following his father down the pathway. The natives lead them towards their horses, where Daryl leans his head against mud and sighs. “Pretty boy,” he whispers, patting his curved face.

One of the natives says something to Paul, he looks like the leader. Paul looks over with a worried expression. “They...they want him too.” He says. Daryl’s eyes shoot around, looking between his father and his brothers, back to mud. “N-No, I can’t.” He breaths. The horse huffs at him, unknowingly.

Paul turns, says something to them. Daryl feels panicked again, first he almost lost Paul, but mud? He couldn’t imagine being without the black stallion. They always had each other.

“They’ll take buttons.” He says, turning to Daryl. “They’ll take her, I can walk, she’ll be okay here. They will settle for her. Take good care of her.” He looks over, like he’s repeating himself in their language.

They let Paul take the things out of his bags and he kisses the tall white horses muzzle. He tells her that she’s going to be okay and the men seem happy to take her. In the distance, Daryl can see them deciding up the cattle with the full moon beating down on them.

Negan doesn’t look happy, not one bit. He glares at them, at Daryl. If looks could kill, they would all be dead. “You know-I get it. Your trying to be all...heroic, save the day. But you fucked up, kid.” Negan says as he mounts his horse, pulling the reigns tight.

Daryl wants to say something, provide some sort of counsel. Paul just looks at him, his face still. “It’s okay. Your alive, aren’t you?” He says, patting Muds flank as Daryl mounts him. “Get on,” He gruffs.

Paul shakes his head meekly, smiling up at him. “I can walk, it’s okay.” He says, but Daryl isn’t having it. He tries to argue it, but before he can even get a word out, Aaron speaks, from the top of a thick quarter horse. “You know you can’t fit him on that little stud, Daryl. You can ride with me.” He smirks. Aaron always held himself like Negan, proud and cocky.

Paul gives the two of them a shy smile. Daryl wants to bite his head off, wants to send a blade right between his brothers eyes. Paul pats mud one more time before walking off from the two. “I’ll walk,” he smiles. Daryl can see the pinkness on his cheeks and the way Aaron watches him walk away before looking over at his brother and winking.

 

* * *

 

Daryl doesn’t bother with the cattle. He takes off after Paul and walks beside him while the other Dixon’s gather what is left of their heard.

“You ain’t gotta walk.” He says, sitting comfortably back on top of his horse. “You ‘ _ain’t_ ’ got to follow me.” Paul jokes playfully. Daryl knows they are minutes behind him, but they all want to make it out of the Apache territory as quickly as possible.

Paul ignores every advance Daryl makes to get him onto the horse before he finally give up, slides off of mud and walks beside Paul.

“Didn’t know ya’ knew how to speak Apache.” He says. They are just about bumping shoulders as they walk along the wash.

“I never told you, that’s why.” He says, glancing up at Daryl with those massive oceans of foam green. He sighs, like he wants to say something, like he wants to tell him.

They walk for a few more minutes before Paul lets it go and the flood gates finally open. “When I was just a boy, my parents, they...migrated this way, after gold. My father was out mining, he never came home one night and my mother and I...we went hungry. In a final act of desperation she went to a Indian village, not far from town.” He was looking at the ground, like he was ashamed.

“My mother begged them to take me, with her last, dying breath, she pleaded with them to take me into their home. They raised me, their chief, my...father, he always taught me the right way. The way to treat people, the animals, the land.” He swallowed quickly. He stopped, pulling a water canteen from his pouch and taking a long drink. He passed it over to Daryl who also took a swig.

“The more white man, who came to this land, the more of the tribe we lost. When it was all said and done, it was just me. They left me to carry the weight of watching my family die.” Daryl felt his chest tighten. He couldn’t even imagine loosing so much. He didn’t know how Paul still held his head so high.

“They didn’t leave me dry though. My people, they always looked out for each other. They left me their gold, their valuables. Enough to keep me going for many, many years.”

There it all was. Laid out for Daryl on a silver plater. Every bit of Paul’s secrets, his life. He knew all there was to know about the smaller man, why he did the things he did. “Ya ever told anyone?” He asked, reaching up to scratch his beard as he walked mud along side him. Paul looked over and shook his head with a sad smile.

“No one really ever asked.” He told him. “I’ll get on now, if you want.” He says, gesturing to Mud. “And I don’t think he’s little. Ain’t nothing wrong with your horse, Daryl.”

Daryl didn’t know what this feeling was. He was content, fulfilled. He pulled himself into the saddle and helped Paul on behind him. They rode like that for what felt like miles in the dark with nothing but moonlight to guide them. Daryl wasn’t tired, he wanted to make it home before they did.

Paul held on tight the whole time, his fingers digging into his black vest, his cheek pressed to his back. Every once in a while Daryl would feel his breath against his skin.

“I’m so tired,” Paul whined against him when the sun started to peak over the horizon. They had at least a half a days ride left before home, but Paul’s hold was weak, he’d been yawning for the last couple hours. They were between a few mountain ranges, riddled with old mines and rocks. Daryl chuckled softly and turned his head a little. “Hop off, we’ll take a rest, start again in a couple hours.” He told him, letting Paul slip off the back of the horse before he too jumped off.

He unsaddled Mud and let him graze lazily. The horse wouldn’t go far. Daryl set the saddle on some rocks and pulled a blanket from the back.

“Ya didn’t have to give up ya horse back there.” He says, finally. It’s been eating him up all night. Paul rolls his eyes, he can see it even in the dim light. “I wasn’t as attached as you. She’ll be treated right, I can buy another horse.” Paul shrugged it off but Daryl knew it hurt him to give up the race horse.

He rolled out the blanket in the sand under a missing piece of rock along the mountain walls, where the water had corroded it away. Paul kicked off his boots and laid himself out on the blanket, frowning at the way his legs cramped.

When Daryl laid down, his back popped, sending chills up his spine. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. How he should lay. It was suddenly so strange to lay in such a position, next to Paul, who just smiled at him.

There it was again, that lost feeling Daryl got in the loft. Paul’s skin looks so soft, his eyes tired but gleaming non the less.

As if he could sense the way Daryl’s body was tensed up, Paul pulled him down onto the blanket before pressing himself to his chest. Daryl just grunts, let’s his arms snake around Paul’s waist and presses his nose into his soft hair.

For once in what feels like forever, Daryl is completely comfortable like this. He’s holding him, Paul is absolutely cradled in his arms and it feels like they fit together perfectly, all their pieces.

“It’s my turn.” Paul breaths against his chest and it gives him goosebumps. He doesn’t respond, knowing Paul doesn’t need one.

“Why did you guys come here? To Arizona? I know that Rick is here, he’s your dads brother, but I don’t understand why you would go through the trouble of moving three hundred heads to somewhere like Arizona.”

Daryl let’s out a deep sigh, sliding his hand up Paul’s back, just rubbing it lazily. It feels like it’s what he should do, and the way Paul sighs gently makes him want to do it forever.

“My pa’.” He starts. “Got himself in trouble. Said he ain’t do it, but I know better. Him and Aaron disappeared one night, aint come back till mornin’. Later, town found some poor man strung up. No one knows what he did.” He said, lifting his hand to brush back a strand of Paul’s hair, tucking it behind his ear and letting his finger tips slide down his throat, across his shoulder and back to his spine.

“After that-everyone...no one wanted us ‘round. Set our ranch on fire. Fled the next day. Rick said life here was good. Needed a fresh start.” He could see Paul’s emotions plastered across his face, the corner of his mouth turned downwards.

“I’m so sorry Daryl. That you had to lose your home.” Daryl let’s himself roll onto his back and close his eyes. “Didn’t loose everything.” He says, letting Paul tuck himself into his side and fall asleep.

Daryl didn’t loose everything. He still had Merel, he still had mud.

_He had Paul._

* * *

 

> _**May 25th, 1906** _

Daryl wakes up from the heat. This summer is going to be the death of him, no doubt about it. He groans, turns to his side and searched for Paul, trying to sink into his space. When he doesn’t find him, he shoots up.

He finds Paul saddling up mud. His heart slows from the rapid thumping, sighing and running his hand across his face. Paul is talking to mud, kissing his face and the horse is just huffing at him, swaying his tail pleasantly.

Daryl can’t help it, he smiles to himself and brings his thumb up to nibble on the skin. It gives him a strange feeling, seeing Paul coo at his horse. Finally, he pulls himself to his feet and rolls up the blanket. Paul smiles at him when he makes his way down the rocks to him. “Remember the first day you came to town? Told you he was sweeter than you lead on.” He smirked at the older man who rolled his eyes.

“Ain’t gotta rub it in.” He says, making sure the saddle is tight after tying down the blanket.

“I’m not. Just saying, you aren’t all tough like you want everyone to believe.” Daryl chooses to hold his tongue on that one. He wants to tell Paul he isn’t sweet at all, that he’d snap his neck in a second but he knows that’s a lie.

Instead, he just pulls himself onto mud and reaches out a hand to Paul who takes it willingly.

The rest of the way back to town is easy. It’s mid morning and Paul talks aimlessly. Unlike the trip there, Daryl doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t mind the way Paul’s beard tickles his neck, the ways he squeezes a little more than he has to.

He’s nearly sad when they make it back to town, luckily before his father. Paul helps him get mud unsaddled and brushed out. He puts him back into the stall with the mule he’d left there for the trip. They seem happy enough to see each other.

When he’s headed back inside, finally, he feels Paul’s small hand tug at his own. “Come to bed with me?” He asks, nibbling at his lip. Daryl knows he can’t do this, his father will be here soon, he can just sneak off, hide from his duties and responsibilities.

“Y’know I can’t, Paul.” He sights.

Paul doesn’t argue it. He just nods and takes his leave inside the hotel, most likely headed up for his own room above the kitchen.

Daryl props himself up in a chair on the deck, sipping coffee that Hershel made him as a welcome home. From where he sits, he can see the Main Street, across into the general store, filled with the small towns residents. He can see where rick is with the girl, Michonne, Daryl learned her name was.

He’s buying her taffy and she’s smiling at him, all wide and genuine. It makes his heart ache for something so easy. No matter how hard he wanted to try, he could never have this. Not with Paul. Despite the fact that Rick and Michonne are different colors, she’s still a woman, and if Daryl had learned anything, it’s that the West minds it’s own business. Everyone is too busy surviving to care about what rick was doing with a woman of another race. But should Daryl be there, buying Paul taffy and tucking back strands of his hair to see the way his eyes shine? The town would have him lynched, he knew it.

He chooses instead to snooze lazily on the porch, waiting for their arrival. When it comes, the streets fill with cattle, Rick coming out to greet his brother cheerfully. Daryl watches sleepily and Merel ties up their horses for the three and makes his way up the steps.

“Lookin’ peaceful.” The older brother jokes, finding a spot in a chair beside him.

Daryl smirks at him. “It is.” He says, closing his eyes. “Been real peaceful without you ‘round.” He says.

They seem to be comfortable until Merel clears his throat and Daryl pops his eyes open to look at him. “Pa ain’t happy. ‘Bout what yer friend did. Said he’s gotta pay.” He tells him. The words make Daryl’s heart race, his skin feels clammy.

“I don’t see it that way. Think he’s real smart. You ain’t real smart.” Merel says, looking across to where their father has his arm around Ricks shoulder, making their way through the heard. They will have to move them soon.

“Seen the way ya look at him. Pa ain’t dumb.” Merel says as he pulls himself up from the stiff chair and meets the two brothers at the bottom of the stairs.

“Get off yer’ ass, Daryl. Got some heifers to push.” Negan says wearing that cocky smile. Daryl get up, stretched his hands over his head and grabs his hat off the back of the chair. “I’ll go get saddled up.” Daryl tells the older man quietly, his eyes on the wood along the deck.

“To hell with that, you’ll take over for Aaron. Man needs some rest. You and Merel get these cattle settled.” He tells him. Their cattle dog barks, a little black and white mutt. They all need some rest, he thinks.

Merel is only thirty two, but the man looks years past Aaron who’s only three years his senior. They two older men always worked Daryl and Merel to the bone. They were never good enough, they never did enough to prove themselves.

Aaron walked up the stairs and knocks shoulders with Daryl who scuffs. The day will come that he finally get to knock his brothers pearly white teeth in.

 

* * *

 

Daryl and Merel get the cattle to their land in what feels like no time at all. They are on other sides of the heard the whole time, so they don’t have a chance to catch up. He hadn’t even noticed how much he truly missed his older brother until now. They always confided in each other, always kept each other safe. They shared each others secrets, each other’s pain.

When the cattle were settled on their land to graze, Daryl trotted up to his brother on the unfamiliar horse. “River ain’t too far from here, if ya wanted to head on over there.” He told him. Merel seemed to agree. Going back to town, back to where his father and brother had more than likely posted up and made themselves known, it didnt sound like something the brothers wanted to do.

They rode down to the river slowly, talking about their trip, about how they were captured, how their father was ready to give up their lives for his pride.

When the subject of Paul comes up, Daryl want to sink into his saddle.

“Ain’t accusing ya, little brother.” Merel jokes. Daryl knows he’s making a joke of it to spare Daryl’s feelings. “Ain’t my business what yer doin’ here. Pa’ ‘s going to make it his though. Best keep your distance, for a lil’ while.” Merel warns him.

Daryl knows his brother has his best interest in mind, no matter how much they push each other around.

Merel is the only person who knows, outside of him and Paul. No one knows him better than his big brother, who’s always watched out for him. Always kept him out of trouble, away from their fathers wrath

“Didn’t start it,” he feels like he should at least tell him. “And I ain’t no fag.”

Merel outright laughs at him. “And I ain’t ever seen a pretty man till him.” He jokes.

 _Paul is pretty_ , Daryl thinks. He doesn’t know when the younger man got under his skin the way he did, when he got so worried about him and what he did.

Him and Merel settle up by the river for most of the afternoon, just joking with each other. It feels like the happiest he’s been in a month. He feels free, content to be himself. His brother was his best friend.

They use the setting sun to guide them back to town and Daryl tells him just how beautiful the colors get in the late afternoons. He thinks Merel will love this place, as much as he does, despite the heat.

 

* * *

 

When they return to town, it’s dark. It’s a Friday night and the saloon is full of people. Through the big glass windows, he can see that his father and Rick are the life of the party around the poker table. He can hear the piano playing in the corner and he pushes open the saloon doors, Merel right behind him.

He finds Paul in the corner and nearly walks over to him until Aaron passes him, two drinks in hand. He sets one on top of the piano, says something and Paul...Paul smiles, wider than Daryl has ever seen with his own to eyes.

Paul has never looked at him the ways he’s looking at Aaron and his heart stops beating, for just a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop some comments on what you THINK will happen next! I’d love to hear theories!


	9. Burning Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve got probably 2-3 more chapters before this comes to a end. I really appreciate all of the feedback! I love hearing from you guys!

> **_June 2nd, 1906_ **

It’s been a week since Aaron, Negan and Merel showed up to town. Daryl finds himself stuck in his same old groove. He’s nearly collapsed in on himself. He doesn’t say much, do much. He and Merel keep to themselves and work on the new property. They fish when they find the time but Daryl hasn’t been back to town since last weekend.

Nearly all night, he watched the way Aaron and Paul interacted. He’d never heard Paul giggle like that, play like that. The music coming from the piano was upbeat and fun, Paul usually played something soft and slow. When Paul had finally noticed his existence the younger man made his way over, asking the two if they wanted a drink.

Aaron had followed, slapped both of his younger brothers across the back and smirked. “Now, c’mon, Rovia. These two ain’t old enough to drink.” He joked. Daryl couldn’t take it. The way Aaron hissed his name like that, the way Paul rolled his eyes. Daryl wasn’t stupid, he saw the way Paul looked the older man over, like he knew what he was doing, like it was a game.

Paul had teased back. “If I would have guessed any of you were too young to drink, I don’t think it would be these two.” He pointed his nose to Daryl and Merel playfully. Aaron squeezed them both, but it left Daryl’s shoulder feeling raw and bruised.

Aaron was thirty six while Daryl was barley twenty nine. The older brother had plenty of time to do cruel things to Daryl, push him around when he was a kid. From making him eat worms to entertain his childhood friends, to killing the family cat and telling Daryl’s mom and their dad that it was the younger brother.

Daryl isn’t sure it’s ever truly ended.

When Daryl finally stormed out of the saloon, Paul followed without missing a step. “Daryl, stop it will you?” The younger man said, grabbing Daryl by his arm. He yanked it away and spun around. The streets were quiet and void of life that late at night, but the saloon is booming.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spat, his eyes darting between the building and Paul. Aaron strutted onto the decking. He leaned against the railing and crossed his arms. Even in the dim light, Daryl could see a faint smirk on his lips.

“What the hell? I thought we were good...” Daryl looked down at him. Paul had looked hurt, sort of like a kicked puppy. It was about time Daryl stoped saying ‘yes’ to Paul every time he made that face. He wasn’t going to string him around, fuck with his emotions. He wasn’t going to be the source of his and Aaron’s entertainment.

“We ain’t.” He said, finally.

Since that night, Daryl has avoided town all together. Aaron goes into town every night with Negan while Merel stays behind. Daryl knows he’s never had to deal with this before. Merel has never seen him like this and the older brother doesn’t push him to tell.

Tonight, when they are finally done nailing down the last piece of the tin roof, they head down to the river again. It’s muggy today, something he figured Arizona didn’t have. The heat has become unbearable at this point. Daryl has contemplated more than once returning home to Texas. He wasn’t shunned, he wasn’t the one who killed that man. Merel would go with him, they could be free from their fathers controlling, iron fist.

Daryl is fishing while Merel gets together wood for a small fire. If he catches anything, they will eat good tonight. “You gotta stop mopin’ around like this, kid.” His brother finally breaks the silence.

“Don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout.” He grunts, yanking when he thinks he’s got a nibble which just turns out to be a snag. “Bullshit.” Merel says, flicking a match and tossing it into the brush below the pile of wood, managing to get a fire going. It’s a small one but they don’t need it for warmth. “You been sloppy, careless. Ain’t heard a damn thing out of yer mouth since y’all split, ‘er whatever.”

Daryl’s head snapped around at his brother, his eyes burning and his fists clenching around the handmade pole. “Didn’t ‘split’, I ain’t no fuckin’ fairy.” He growled at him. Merel sat down beside him, giving his brother a friendly slug.

“And my name ain’t Merel Dixon.” He joked. Daryl is about to say something when their is a sound behind them. He glanced over his shoulder to find Rick ridding up behind them. It was a sore sight, he’d been missing their poker games. “Thought you’d be down here.” The Sheriff says.

“What ya’ doin here, it’s a Saturday night.” Daryl says, his voice flat and emotionless as he tugs again, trying to pull something in to keep his mind from what was happening.

“Been worried about you. Everyone has, Rovia just about begged me to come lookin’ for you.” He snorted, tying up his horse and stepping down to the shoreline with them. “Somethin’ I should know about, nephew?” He asks. Daryl feels like he’s boiling alive at this point. He knows what happens when Merel and Rick team up on him, it never turns out good for anyone.

“Would everyone just drop it already?” He asks. He’s beat red at this point. He’s not sure if he wants to cry, fight, or burst into flames so he doesn’t have to be here. “You know, that old man at the bar? Sees everythin’. Says you been real sweet on Paul lately.” Rick questions, like Daryl is being interrogated. Rick is the sheriff after all.

He wants to get up but he feels frozen where he is. “Now, all of a sudden, no one has seen you around and Aaron has been putting his two cents in everything. If I didn’t know any better myself, I’d say Aaron is pretty sweet on him too.” Rick finally sinks down to the sand and stretched his legs out.

Daryl glances over at him and waits. He doesn’t have anything to say, he doesn’t have anything to protest because they all know it would be a lie.

“You know I don’t trust that man. Somethin’ ain’t right with him. He’s my nephew but he ain’t ever been my friend. Paul is my friend and the only thing standing between him and Somethin’ terrible is you.”

Daryl feels it like a knife deep in his gut. To hell with him, Paul was asking for it from Aaron. The way he looked at him, giggled at his jokes? It didn’t take a idiot to see the way Aaron had caught Paul’s attention that first time. Daryl wasn’t stupid. He knew the way he looked compared to his brother. He had at least six inches on him, a full beard. He was handsome by any woman’s standards and Daryl? Daryl was rough around the edges, shaggy hair and shitty attitude to match.

It wouldn’t be a hard decision for Paul but to drag it out like this and act like he gave a damn about Daryl? That was bullshit. “Well, that’s his own decision. Go back to town and tell that little son of a bitch not to send people lookin’ for me. If I wanted to see his mug I would. I don’t.” He snaps and stands, walking off.

No one follows and that’s the way he wants it. He wants to be left alone, he wants everyone to stop pitying him. It’s nothing to feel sorry for, Daryl made a error in his judgment. Paul had manipulated him when he was drunk and made him feel things he didn’t want to. He didn’t need anyone to feel sorry for that. He needed them to push those feelings out of his head and tell him how disgusting he was for thinking them. He wanted them to tell him the way he was feeling was wrong, but they didn’t.

Daryl rides back to the house and rummages through everyone’s things until he finds himself a bottle of whiskey. After Rick and Merel leave the spot by the river, Daryl sneaks down and paces for a bit, nursing the bottle. Daryl drinks himself to sleep, leaving mud to graze. It’s the only thing that keeps him from feeling the gaping hole that goes right through him and leaves him feeling helpless.

 

* * *

 

> _**June 3rd, 1906** _

The next day, Daryl doesn’t wake until well into the day. His head is pounding and he’s dizzy. He’s been hungover before and this has nothing on it. He drags himself to the shore and tries to drink from the cool water but all it does is make him throw up. He’s never felt like this before. The sun has been cooking him for what feels like hours and he can’t keep anything down.

To top it off, when he stands, mud is nowhere to be seen. It’s just Daryl, miles from home and even more so from town, cooking in the Arizona sun.

It takes him hours, at least until early evening, late afternoon until he reaches the outskirts of the sleepy town. There had been no one home, he assumed Rick talked Merel into going to town. He couldn’t whistle for mud, his mouth was so dry.

He was a lucky son of a bitch, because the moment he hits town, it’s over for him. He stumbles into ricks office, throws up and collapses on the wood floor.

 

* * *

 

It’s dark when he opens his eyes again. He rolls over, his stomach turning. In the dark he tries to find something to throw up into but all that comes up is air. He dry heaves for what feels like forever. But, wherever he is, it’s soft. He’s dripping in sweat and he feels clammy but there is a cool hand in his forehead.

“Lay down,” the voice is soft, calming. It’s Michonne, he barley recognizes her voice like this. “You’ve got heatstroke.” She tells him, his head feels like its going to explode, this it’s just going to pop like a melon. “We’re taking turns watching you.” She says, patting his sticky forehead with a damp cloth.

“We have to get your temperature down, you can have some water but go easy.” She says. Now that his eyes are adjusted, he can see in the room. There is a oil lamp beside the bed burning softly.

He sits up on his elbows as Michonne helps him drink. When she sets the cup down, she feels his forehead with the back of her hand and sighs. “I’ll go get Rick. He was worried about you.” She says, getting up and walking to the door. Daryl lets himself fall back and he closes his eyes, trying his best to will away the pain. He’d give anything for this to go away.

He thinks he falls asleep for a moment, but before he knows it, Rick is at his side. “Didn’t think you would pull out of it.” He sighs, sitting on the stool beside his bed. “You gotta be more careful.” He insists.

Daryl hadn’t noticed how burned his skin was until then. He feels like everything is on fire. It hadn’t helped that he slept without his shirt on but he’s sure it still would have made its way in if he had been wearing one.

“‘M fine.” He groans, licking his lip. His breathing has picked up to keep up with the pain. “Just need some water.” He contines before opening his eyes again to look at his uncle.

“Who knows ‘m here?” He asks, looking between the two. Rick tries to avoid it, he does that thing Daryl always calls him out on when he’s trying to hide something. “Daryl...” he swallows quickly. He looks down at his hands and over at Michonne. “Look, he doesn’t know. He’s not here, no one has seen him since noon, Aaron either.” He sighs.

Rick sits with him a little while longer but finally the man gives up when he catches the utter defeat in Daryl’s eyes. He wishes he could slip into a coma and never wake again. Another part of him wishes he had just died out there in that desert. Wishes he had just boiled alive.

He closes his eyes and the numbness in his chest drowns out the feeling of his veins pulsing.

 

* * *

 

The sun is still coming up when Daryl wakes up again. He feels weak this time, like everything hurts to move. He’s not sure what woke him up until he hears arguing outside the door. He can’t make it out at first, and then all he can hear is Paul’s voice.

Rick is talking to him sternly and from the way Paul is responding he could care less if Rick was trying to keep him quiet. “He’s sleeping, god damn it.” He can hear his uncle hiss.

Paul huffs at him loudly. “Bullshit, Rick. Why didn’t anyone come find me?” He said. Daryl can almost hear his lip quivering. He sounds so shaky. “Because, no one knew where to find ya!”

Daryl sits up a little in his the bed and searches for the cup of water Michonne has left for him. “You were out, foolin’ around with his brother. No one wanted to look for you.” He growled at him.

Daryl wanted to say something then, he didn’t want to hear this, about the things Paul has been doing, the things they used to do. “I wasn’t! I haven’t done anything with him! I showed him around, his horse tripped and we had to walk them back. And why do you give a hell what I’m doing?” Paul is breathless, pausing to catch up with himself. “At least he acts like he enjoys having me around, okay? But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about Daryl. He’s my friend.”

Daryl can’t take it anymore, his gets up, holding his blanket around his hips. He’s not sure when he got naked, or who got him naked, but he doesn’t question it. He realizes now that the sheets are cold and wet, probably to bring his temp down.  
He pulls open the closed door and glares at the two of them. “Can’t ya’ see I’m trying to sleep?” He nearly yells at them.

Paul doesn’t let him shut the door and Rick is right after him. “Daryl-“ Rick stops him. “Can’t you see he doesn’t want you bothering him?” He says. Daryl would think it was harsh if it were anyone else.

“It’s fine.” He says to his uncle as he sinks into the bed. “Need some water,” he says. Rick snorts and takes his leave. He knows he doesn’t like it but if it stops the bickering, so be it. Daryl tells himself that it isn’t because he still, to this day, has a hard time telling Paul ‘no’.

“I’m sorry,” Paul’s voice breaks and Daryl lays back against the pillows painfully. His skin hurts so bad, he’s sure it’s going to blister.

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for.” He finally glances over at Paul and sighs before closing them again.

“No, I’m sorry. I should have came to see you myself last night. I was scared, I didn’t...I didn’t think you wanted to see me. We were okay, I thought. I thought when we got back, you’d stop dancing around me. That you could at least pretend to enjoy me being around you and-“ Daryl stops him, talking over him mid sentence. “Wasn’t pretending.”

Paul just stares at him blankley before shaking his head. “I was just teasing you, that night. I...I’m stupid, I know. God, you have no idea how angry I was at myself.”

Daryl is wide awake now no matter how hard he wants to go to sleep and be left alone. “Why did you then?” Daryl says angrily. Paul reaches up and rubs his eyes, sniffling. He laughs a little, probably at himself.

“I was trying to make you jealous. I mean, at first I didn’t see you. I thought you would come find me but you didn’t. By the time I saw you...I thought we were going to bounce off each other all night. Eventually you would get so damn flustered.” Paul is bitting his lip now and looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “You’d take me out back and pull me up into the loft and you would press me into the hay.” He gulps thickly.

Daryl can hear how much he’s swallowing, his mouth is watering. “You would...would fuck me. You’d tell me how you didn’t like the way Aaron looked at me and you’d make me tell you that I was all yours.” Paul let himself breath for a moment. Daryl could feel his heart racing. What was he doing? “Paul, you ain’t gotta-“

He shook his head and grabbed at Daryl’s hand. “I’m not innocent here, Daryl. After the way you yelled at me and you just...disappeared, Aaron was there. Treated me like I wasn’t just some annoying piece of ass.”

“Please stop.” He asks of him. He can’t take this anymore. He feels like he has something he should say, it’s welling up inside of him.

“I just wanted to tell you, because things with Aaron are good. Great, I mean...I shouldn’t have roped you into that like I did, so I’m sorry.”

Daryl decides that he doesn’t have anything to say because he knows that Paul’s mind is well and made up. He lets him go, he watches him get up after giving his hand one last squeeze. He looks back at him one more time, those pale green eyes.

They are burning holes in him.

Paul closes the door, and Daryl sinks back into the mattes. If he died right now, he thinks that would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think of this chapter! I’ll take some more predictions! ;) also, I know some of you have never been so let me clarify. At this time in Arizona, the weather can easily reach 110 degrees Fahrenheit. I have had third degree sunburns (blisters and scabs) four times in my life. The sun don’t fuck around in Az. There is a town near mine where they host “egg frying contests” where they actually fry eggs on the asphalt. Donkeys also roam the streets. True story.


	10. Sun’s Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU CONTIUE THIS CHAPTER. Without spoiling, all I can say is there is a LOT of blood and terrible things in this one. This is easily the most gruesome thing I have ever written. (Maybe? Probably?) please see this as a fair warning because I won’t stop mid chapter to give another one.

> **_June 16th, 1906_ **

Things that live in the Arizona typically carry protection. Cougars and Bobcats that reside in the mountains have long sharp claws. The snakes are mostly Poisonous. Everywhere you step, you can find a scorpion or a tarantula. The plants are all covered by thorns and you can’t walk around barefoot without getting a goat head sticker every two feet.

To make it in such a place, one has to be well adapted to a harsh environment filled with things that probably want to kill you.

Daryl is _not_ one of these things—and he is _not_ well equipped for it. His skin is a deep shade of golden brown by now, a color he thought he couldn’t turn. He feels dry constantly, sticky, hot. He’s decided that Arizona, as beautiful as it might seem, is not the proper place for him.

_He has no thorns._

_He does not have sharp claws._

_He is not poisonous._

He’s weak, thin skinned and ready to fold. Working the ranch while Negan and Aaron watch, he’s discovered that the sun has a song. When it’s just hot enough, when every uncovered piece of skin feels like it’s on fire, the sun rings a crushing sound. It’s like every beam bouncing off his body is hissing.

The house should be done today and maybe then, he can get a break. Merel hasn’t been pushing himself quite the way Daryl has been but for a while there, Daryl needed to distract his mind by driving nail after nail. It didn’t take long for the bones of their soon to be home take shape. Aaron does most of the running into town for supplies, Negan has been spending more and more time in town with his brother.

Daryl can’t blame them, he remembers how hard it was to spend time working when he had a new town to explore, new people who cared for him. But the void that came with his absence is easily filled by the two older men. At this point, Daryl is sure he’s just the shell of a man with nothing exciting or interesting filling the spaces.

He drives in another nail then turns to see Aaron riding up on his horse, carrying another sack of nails and a bag of dried corn. Daryl straightens up and stretches his back, listening to the way it cracks and pops in protest.

Aaron drops the bags at his feet and nearly smirks at him. “You know, Pa is taking to that little fellow.” The man says. Daryl hasn’t paid much attention to the older brother since he arrived, he was the last thing Daryl wanted to be seeing but if he felt like he had to say something to Daryl, Daryl might as well listen. He grunts back, like he’s not sure what he’s talking about.

“Paul? You know, long hair, big ol’ green eyes. I’m sure you’ve seen them, little brother. Probably seen them real, real close.” He sneers, leaning against the horn of his saddle and slouching his shoulders. “Pa has been talkin’ with him, you know, learning ‘bout the people in this town. The good ones, the ones that...” he slides his thumb across his lower lip and his mouth twitches upwards. “Ones that need to be weeded out. Guy sure has a lot to say ‘bout ya.”

He straightens up then and looks around like he doesn’t know the things he’s doing to Daryl right now. “I mean, he ain’t got a lot to say all the time. You know how dang stubborn he is? If I didn’t know any better I’d say he ain’t that sort of fellow.”

Daryl’s fists clench, his blood is coursing and he can’t help the rumble that leaves him. “Come on now, little brother. Don’t be a sore looser.” Merel grabs his hand before he can do anything and Aaron just turns and drives his spurs into the scarred flank of his horse. “Pa says you need to be in town tonight!” The man says over his shoulder as his horse gallops off into the mirage in front of them.

Merel is still beside him and Daryl rips his hand away. “You know ‘bout this bullshit?” He growls at him. Merel frowns. “Didn’t know a damn thing—ain’t said nothin’ to nobody.”

It’s not that Daryl doesn’t trust him but he doesn’t trust anyone these days. It’s nearly evening now, if his father wants them in town for the afternoon then he sure as hell isn’t going there like this. He washes himself up by the river and changes into something nice, something he hasn’t warn in weeks. All he’s had on we’re work clothes since they arrived. He almost forgot what it like to feel good in his own skin, but even the neat clothes don’t help settle his nerves.

He jumps on mud, who’s just getting over turning up covered in cactus the night after Daryl was found. The horse doesn’t run off too much anymore.

Merel follows suite and doesn’t say anything when they walk the whole way into town. Daryl knows all too well that his brother could call him out for the way he is stalling. He doesn’t want to go to the dusty town or face the problems he knows that are waiting for him there.

His father is probably going to humiliate him. What if Paul had said something? What Aaron is just trying to get under his skin?

When they’ve almost reached town, there is a horse riding towards them, fast. He can make out bright red hair under a hat. It doesn’t take long to see that it’s Abraham. Oh, how he missed that man. His jokes, his all around almost vulgar ways.

“Daryl,” he breaths, panting. “You gotta go back kid,” he tells him. “Rick sent me out here, told me to tell you to head home.”

Daryl can recognize the look on his face, it’s one of desperation and anguish. “Somethin’ happen?” Merel says. Before Abraham can respond, Merel is off. Daryl tries to follow but Abraham grabs ahold of his reins and holds onto Mud.

“Son, believe me, ain’t nothing you need to be seeing.” The way abraham is looking at him makes him feel wheezy. His stomach is turning, his lungs feel empty so he pulls in breath after breath. “Is it my pa?” He asks, something might have happened to him.

Abraham looks over his shoulder, his face is nearly as red as his hair and he looks like he’s gritting his teeth. He sniffles and looks back. “It’s a hangin’.” He tells him. “Ricks been tryin’ to stop him, but it’s just me and Hershel standin’ with him. Town is just...watchin.”

Daryl had only ever been to one hanging in his life. The man was accused of murdering his cheating wife. The towns people had demanded he be strung up in the streets, no matter how much the judge had cried no, if it was what the majority ruled no one could stop them.

Maybe it had finally caught up to his Pa, or Aaron, the things they had done back in Texas. The unknown was eating him alive. He ripped the reins from Abraham’s right fingers and jabbed at Muds sides.

It takes forever to round the first corner building. It’s late evening, Daryl’s favorite time, usually. The sky is purple and nearly dark, a splash of stars slathering the sky.

There is a group of people standing around in a circle, they don’t look like the people at that first hanging, back in Texas. They aren’t cheering, they aren’t waiving their arms around and begging for the deed to be done.

He can hear his fathers powerful voice ringing in his ears, like it would when he was in trouble as a kid, the same way he would demand things from them. He was a persuading person.

He pushes through the crowd till he can’t get through anymore and he climbs off Mud. He can see glimpses. There’s dust flying, his father is walking around the circle and Aaron is standing in the middle.

“Get outta my way!” He growls, pushing past two men. At the sound of his voice, his father stops.

“There he is, man of the hour! Let him through, folks.” He says. The people step aside, like a river parting. When the dust settles, the whole world narrows and goes quiet.

There, bloodied and lifeless in the middle of the group is a small, lean figure. Their hair is at their shoulder and mucky. Aaron is holding them by a rope around their neck. The only reason Daryl knows they are still alive is the gurgling sounds they make and the hands grabbing at the ropes.

As if his timing couldn’t get any better, Merel and Ricks arms are rapping around his body as he lunges. Every step he doesn’t make, comes out of his lungs in a shout.

All Daryl can see and hear over the pounding of his heart is Paul’s head fall back against Aaron’s leg. He’s got blood dripping down his chin and across his white button up. His left eye is swollen nearly shut and his nose looks broken. The rope around his neck is just for Aaron to hold him by. He can tell Paul has been fighting, his clothes are dirty and the two older men have a few scrapes and cuts.

“Let him go—you son of a bitch!” He spits at his dad, who steps back. “Now, now son!” He lifts his hands like he’s done nothing wrong. “Im just here, doin’ this town a favor. Ain’t you ever heard of sodomy, son? It’s against the law, in these parts.” Negan has a large stick in his hand and a revolver in the other. He points at Rick, who’s nearly dripping in anger, if not sweat.

“And who better to uphold the law then our fine sheriff?” He accuses. Rick growls at him. “You have no proof.” He says. Negan laughs, because Daryl know damn well that his father plans for everything. He always, always has.

He points to his eldest son who lifts Paul by the rope. There is a small gasp from the woman in the crowd. Daryl tries to move again but Rick and Merel hold him still. Abraham is at his back with a steady hand in his shoulder.

Aaron sneers, looking at Paul’s bloodied form before looking over at his brother. He reaches up and grabs Paul by his bloody mouth, forcing him to look over at Daryl. He wants to throw up.

“See this? Pretty little mouth, Daryl?” He smirks. Paul uses what looks like he has left of his strength to pull his face away. Aaron wipes the blood hand off on his shirt and laughs. “Had that wrapped around my cock.”

Daryl is going to kill him, he’s going to rip his throat out himself. “Know how much he begged me to do it? Told him the only way I’d let him is if he told me what he’d done with ya’.”

Daryl remembers this feeling, when his mother died. He felt like his whole world was coming crashing down around him. This was all of that, rushing in on him endlessly.

Negan takes his place in front of the two brothers. “Open his shirt.” He says. He wants to make sure that Daryl is watching, that he sees everything that is happening. Daryl thinks it’s because he’ll be next. The rope around Paul’s neck is tied to hang him.

Negan pulls a knife from his pocket and walks over to Paul, who is squirming helplessly. Daryl watches, as Negan drags the blade across his stomach, drawing blood, enough that Paul screams in agony. “Well leave him up there, hanging, for everyone to see, till he rots around the rope and slips through.”

Negan starts carving into Paul, a ‘F’ across his right breast. When he starts working on the second letter, Paul lifts a weak leg and kicks his knee backwards. Daryl is helpless but to watch, no matter how much his sobs against his uncles hold, begging them to let him go. He has to help Paul, he’s got to.

All he can do, is watch.

He watches, as Negan reaches around for the gun he’d holstered just seconds before.

In the same moment, without a second thought, a glimpse of Ricks gun catches his eye. He grabs it without a word. Everything slows down. Rick doesn’t have enough time to react to the two men pulling their guns.

In a instant, the town is filled with the power sound of gun fire and the people begin to skater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can promise two more chapters after this one! Also! At this time Sodomy was illigal. Sodomy is defined as anal penatrative sex. Believe it or not there WAS laws against this. I’m not sure if they were in effect in Arizona because it technically was not a state until 1922, but we’re rolling with it for now.


	11. Inhale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me up to this point! I appreciate all of your support and love.

**_Inhale_ **

Daryl was twelve when the neighbors dogs got ahold of their new born colt. They found him in the early morning, patches of skin hanging off of him, a few dead dogs the mare had stomped to death. There was blood everywhere, he remembers. He was terrified. The colt was six days old, still fresh and following around his momma in the round pen, scared out of his mind. He was meant to be Daryl’s horse when he was old enough.

He was a pinto, white with black slashes all over. Now he was just covered in blood and exposed muscle. “We have to put him down.” Negan sighed.

Daryl’s heart sank. Merel was at a boys came for the summer to make up for some of his missed schooling due to miss-behavior. It was just him, his momma, Aaron and their Pa. “Want me to do it, pa?” Aaron asked all too quickly. Daryl was standing in front of his mother, crying. She had her arms draped over his shoulders and trying her best to sooth him.

“No!” Daryl squeaked. His mom gave him a squeeze and started to lead him inside before their father stoped the two. “No, son, he’s your horse. It’s about time to grew up.” The man gruffed out. Daryl shook his head and his mother placed her hands in his soft hair.

“Negan, he’s just a boy.” She said, knowing well enough that he was the boys father, ultimately it would be his call. “Milly, the boys a pussy. He needs ta’ quite that blubbering shit and take care of things ‘round here.”

Daryl remembers the way he grabbed him by his overall straps and dragged him into the pen where Aaron was already working on leading the mare out.

Negan held his hands steady and forced his fingers to the trigger.

**_Exhale_ **

He didn’t want to pull it and he closed his eyes as he father squeezed his little hands tight. The gunshot felt like it rang through his entire body.

_**Inhale** _

After it was over, when the momma horse stoped whinnying for her colt, Daryl had to help dig the hole to burry his little lifeless body in.

**_Exhale_ **

**_Inhale_ **

**_Exhale_ **

That gunshot was nothing like the one that just raddled through his core. He didn’t close his eyes this time, he didn’t shake or cry. He didn’t miss and no one had to pull the trigger for him.

It felt like a eternity till Negan’s lifeless body slumped over, blood pooling out of the bullet hole through his skull.

The second one happened not moments after the first. Paul was screaming again, holding what was left of his knee. With a clean shot he got Aaron in the shoulder, throwing him backwards. The towns people by now have scattered back to their homes and into the local shops to watch from the windows worriedly.

Rick goes for Aaron’s gun, pressing him into the dirt and tying his hands behind his back while Abraham goes to get the doctor who was held up in his office.

Daryl went straight for Paul. Paul was panting, trying to hold onto his knee desperately, hoping, somehow, that it might aid to take away the pain of being shot.

“Paul—Christ, talk to me. Your okay, your going to be okay.” He says as he pulls off his belt and ties it around Paul’s leg to help stop the bleeding. “ _Daryl_ ,” he chokes. He’s got blood coming out of his mouth but Daryl knows he hasn’t been stabbed or shot in the chest, he’s bleeding from his mouth.

“Roll over, your going to drown.” He says after Paul starts to gurgle the blood. The man is clammy, in and out and he looks like he’s fighting off blacking out, or maybe something worse all together.

The only other person beside him is Merel, holding his hand over the spot on his leg loosing blood.

“‘M sorry.” Paul says finally. He closes his eyes and—

_**Inhale** _

“Paul, keep your eyes open, c’mon.” Daryl knows he’s crying. His plea sounds desperate and broken. If the towns people want to hang him tomorrow that would be fine by him, because if these are Paul’s last breaths he needs them to mean something. He can’t be scared anymore, he’s not that little boy with someone else’s finger on the trigger. He’s Daryl, a grown man, who lives by his own damn accord and if he wants Paul Rovia, by god, no one is going to stop him now.

“Paul, please you gotta look at me.” He pulls him into his lap. Paul’s eyes rollback almost aimlessly. The pain and exhaustion are taking their toll.

_“I love you.”_

**_Exhale_ **

Daryl pushes his hair back, tucks it behind his ear and watches as his own tear drops land on his pale face. “I love you, Paul, _please_. Please stay with me.”

When the doctor finally starts to patch him up, he’s frantic. Daryl keeps his head in his lap the whole time, trying to keep him awake. Paul is in and out of consciousness the whole time. “He’s loosing a lot of blood.” The doctor says. He looks defeated, scrubbing a bloodied hand across his face.

“Please—there has to be something you can do, anything.” Daryl would take any miracle, any last resort he could get his hands on. This wasn’t how they ended, this wasn’t all they were made of.

Daryl and Paul’s story wasn’t over yet, it couldn’t be.

“I...I can take him up to Gila bend, it’s a half a days ride from here. They have a hospital, they could help him.” The doctor tells him. “If you help me load him into the coach I can have him there by morning.” The man says.

Daryl lifts Paul in his arms and carries him across the dirt street. Merel helps the Doctor get the coach ready and his helper started hooking up the horses. “Doc! We’re one short, Mini twisted up her foot last night, this coach isn’t going anywhere without a horse.” He says, breathlessly.

“Take Mud.” Daryl says as he sets Paul in the back atop some sheets. “He’s pulled a coach before, he’s small but he’s strong.” He tells him.

He doesn’t even think about it, just let’s them unsaddle mud and hook him up to the tug. The stud stomps around, still antsy from the gunfire a few minutes before. The doctor walks around to help fasten up the horses, giving Daryl a second alone with Paul in what feels like the most fuzzy, chaotic moment in their lives. Everything feels so noisy. Like he’s in the middle of a over crowded city and it’s closing in on him.

**_Inhale_ **

“Paul, look at me.” He says, holding his face. The blood around his mouth is drying and he manages to peak up at Daryl. “You come home, ya hear me?” Daryl sniffles and his words waiver. “You gotta hold on and come home to me. Need you,” He hiccups. He can feel Paul reach up with a blood covered hand and presses it to his face.

“I’m sorry, I was never man ‘nough to be in control of ma own life, I woulda made sure ya knew ya were mine weeks ago.” Paul wipes away a tear, replacing it with blood as Daryl leans into the faint touch. “I love you. God, I’ve never loved anything like I love you, Paul Rovia.”

It’s over too soon, the doctor comes back around and pulls open the other door.

“We’ve got to go.” The doctor says. “Can I come?” Daryl asks, he doesn’t want to leave Paul. If he looses him on the trip then he can’t imagine not being there for him, being the last thing he sees.

“Can’t-ain’t no room, sir, I’m sorry.” He says, climbing into the coach and pulling the door closed. Paul is being ripped from his world with nothing but a track of dust following the coach.

**_Exhale_ **

He spends the rest of the night and well into the morning on the deck of the hotel. No one has moved Negans body and he’s sure, come sun up, it’s going to fill the streets with a stench. He can’t find himself to care about the loss of his father, the only thing he can feel is a gaping, wide, endless hole where his heart used to be. This isn’t like when his mother died at all. She had gone in her sleep, she had pneumonia and they had all been helpless to save her.

But there’s something nagging at him saying he should have done something sooner, maybe he could have saved Paul. Maybe if he’d kept him to himself, didn’t let Aaron beat him down and whittle his way in between them, he would still have him.

> **_June 17th, 1906_ **

It’s day light when Hershel brings him out a cup of coffee he can’t stomach. It smells like Paul. “He would want you here.” Hershel says, weakly bringing himself down to sit on the old steps. “He’d want you to take care of the saloon, while he’s gone. Someone’s got to.”

Daryl knows the old bar keep is trying his best to bring Daryl’s mind away from the bloodied half alive man he’d let go of hours before.

“I’ll stay. Ain’t got anywhere else to go.” He tells him just to settle his mind. Hershel sighs at him and pulls a note from his apron. “Here. Paul said, if anythin’ ever happened to him, I had to give this to you. He gave it to me the night y’all came back with the heard.” He says. He hands over the note and pulls himself up.

Daryl’s bloodied fingers stick to the paper but he pulls it open slowly.

> _Hey, Cowboy._
> 
> _I thought about what it would be like to lose you back there, when the apaches had you tied up. I thought about what you would do if you ever lost me. I know how hard talking is for you, I know how confused you are. If I’m gone, for whatever reason it might be, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are so strong, Daryl. So kind hearted. I know that you won’t let anyone past that hard shell but I know that there is so much going on in that big beautiful head of yours. Please don’t let this stop you from all the things you can do._
> 
> _Your sleeping right now but the thought of loosing you has me up. I’m making you coffee. I used to hate coffee. Your always waiting for a cup so I make it every morning, even when you aren’t around. I’ve grown to love it. Funny, how such bitter things have that effect._
> 
> _I want you to let people in. They adore you, everyone. Rick, Michonne, Maggie and Beth. Hell, even Abe can’t stop himself. If I write this and you never have to read it, then I will work every day to teach you how to trust people. If your reading this now, it means I’m not there to do that for you. You have to do it for yourself, Daryl._
> 
> _You deserve to be the man I see when I look at you._
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _—Paul_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
>  
> 
> I’m just fucking with you guys. Catch you for the final installment, tootles.


	12. Buttons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab your alibis folks, we’re about to commit some Sodomy ;)

 

 

 

 

> _**February 14th, 1907** _
> 
> **_Yuma, Az_ **

Daryl has been up all night. He has times like this, where all he can think about is Paul. He likes to sit himself in the cold air and let it wisp away his thoughts. When he finally starts to shiver, he knows the pain will rid him of the ache in his chest.

It’s been ten months since Paul left them. Daryl hasn’t left the saloon, like he promised. Merle has been working the ranch with help from Hershel and Maggie. Rick has been busy, far too busy to be bothered with keeping his nephew sane. He’s going a bit insane himself.

The door to the sheriffs office opens across the street and out steps the man, fresh from their home above the office. He’s got a soft blanket wrapped in his arms as he makes his way over.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your sleep patterns have lined up.” He sighs and hands over the bundle to Daryl. It’s the one thing that’s kept him together the last two weeks. “Swear, I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.” Rick stretches and takes a seat beside Daryl on the cool steps.

Daryl chuckles at him and pulls the blanket back to stroke his knuckle across his roses red cheeks. “Hey, little man.” He coos.

“Michonne has just about given up, that woman is a saint. This is why people don’t do this often, huh?” Rick jokes, looking over at his newborn son. “I’m sure he ain’t all that bad, huh, Carl?” Daryl smirks over at his uncle, trying to will his mind to anything else other than death and destruction.

“How you holdin’ up, nephew?” Rick asks as Daryl works on lulling the baby back to sleep. Daryl is ricks secret weapon when it come to his turn taking the baby at night. Rick is a good father, but he’s tired, warn out. Newborns have that effect. “Doin’ okay. Gets easier every day.” He tells him. “Been fixin’ up the saloon. Keeps my mind busy.”

Baby Carl yawns wide and closes his little eyes. Daryl can’t help but smile down at his cousin. “You know, Daryl...it wasn’t your fault. Aaron couldn’t get over the fact that you had something better than him. It’s hard for someone like that to accept defeat.” Rick has given him this speech time and time again and Daryl tries to find his way out every time. He doesn’t want to talk about why Paul is gone. He knows why.

“Better get him inside, before he wakes back up.” Daryl says, handing the sleepy baby over. Rick rolls his eyes at him and stands. “Paul would want you to move on, let him go.”

It’s all that’s said for the rest of the night. Daryl watches him walk inside and he pulls a cigar from his breast pocket. He strikes the match on his boot. He’s been smoking so often that there is a mark left from where he always flicks his match.

One thing that does help, is thinking about the days following Paul’s death. The way they had left Aaron’s gunshot wound open. They had no need to patch him up, the hung him in the streets, in front of the saloon. Daryl made him look at the puddle of dried blood in the middle of the street when they dropped the doors.

The doctor had returned and informed them that Paul had made it up until the hospital. Daryl rode up to Gila later, only to find that Paul was not there and no one could give him any kind of information on him.

They had hope for months that he might return but when four turned into six, that hope was lost.

He pulls in a long drag and leans his head against the post beside him. God, how he misses him. How he wished he’d done everything different. He wished that he told him how he felt when he had the chance. He wished his cherished him, held him tight. Of all things, he wished he’d just kissed him. Not knowing what Pauls lips felt like kept him up most night, sobbing into his pillow in the room that was once Paul’s. He couldn’t leave it empty, to gather dust, he couldn’t let the memory of Paul blow away.

When he lifts himself from the steps weakly, there’s the small patter of horses hooves. People come in and out of town regularly, it isn’t abnormal for the coach to run late at night. Daryl knows they will need somewhere to bed down for the night so he leans against the post and puffs on his cigar.

When the coach pulls up, it’s pulled by four horses, one man sitting at the top. He has a lamp burning beside him. The figure steps out on the side facing away from Daryl and they talk for a moment before the coach pulls away and all that is left is a small figure, dressed in a long coat and a flat brimmed hat.

Daryl has seen him in everyone. Every person that passes, every face, Daryl can only see Paul.

The figure has a cane they press to the dirt. They walk with a limp, Daryl figures they must be older. It can’t be Paul, Paul is strong, able. This man looks weak.

“Dollar twenty a night.” He says to the slow moving man. They stop, just in the shadow of the buildings, where the moonlight doesn’t touch.

“You raised the prices?”

Daryl feels like he can’t breath, suddenly. He feels like all the air has been ripped from his chest and his stomach has creeped its way up to his chest.

When you lose someone, waiting for them to come back feels like a eternity. Daryl has felt helpless for months, like he’s been carrying around this burned on his shoulders. He doesn’t want to face the next day because he knows it’s just another day filled with sorrow and despair. It’s another day knowing that he will never see Paul’s oceans of green staring back at him.

Right now, he has that lost feeling. Like the night in the loft nearly a year before, when he laid Paul out in the hay and the moonlight kissed his skin.

It all comes rushing back when Paul steps through the shadow and into the light, a cocky little smirk on his lips as he leans against his cane. He looks smaller than he did, weaker. His hair is tied in a knot at the base of his head and his beard is trimmed but longer than it was before.

He leaves the porch in a bound. He doesn’t care if he’s just seeing things, if maybe he hasn’t had enough sleep in the last few days and this is all a dream. This is the most vividly he’s seen him in months.

When he reaches him and pulls him into his chest, he knows he’s real. They stumble backwards and sigh together. Daryl has been longing for this feeling every time he opens his eyes.

“ _Paul_ ,” he breaths. His voice is broken and it comes out like a sob. “Easy, cowboy. Your going to knock me over.” The younger man tries to laugh. Daryl knows they are both too overcome with emotion to do anything else. “I’d catch you.” He say quickly, pulling back and crashing back together.

He holds Paul by the back of his neck and it’s the most desperate kiss he’s ever had. It’s raw, wet from the tears running down his face. He pulls back for a second, long enough to breath between them. “ _I love you_.” He surges forward again, this time one hand falling to the middle of his back and yanking him impossibly closer.

“Daryl,” Paul says breathlessly, between the hold Daryl has in his lips. “Inside.” He breaths.

Daryl doesn’t want to stop. He’s needed this for far too long, he knows if he stops it’s like Paul could slip right through his fingers. He reaches down and lifts him effortlessly, turning to walk him up the stairs. Paul giggles against the shell of his ear as he wraps around him completely.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Daryl says as he makes his way up the stairs and through the saloon doors.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Paul leans back and presses their mouths together. It isn’t harsh this time, there still desperation behind Daryl’s hands but Paul makes sure he’s going slow. “We have all the time in the world.”

Daryl loses his place, forgets where he is going and catches himself on the corner of the bar. He figures it’s a better place than any. He drops Paul onto the maple wood top and sinks to his neck, lining it with sloppy kisses.

He can’t think of any other way to express how much he’s needed this, how much he’s missed Paul. He wants to worship his skin. He pushes off his coat and lets it drop to the floor below them. It’s dark, everyone is well into sleep. He wouldn’t care if someone walked in and found them like this. All he could think about was the way Paul was looking at him. He was real, he was everything Daryl had dreamed of the last ten months. He leans down and kisses him again, letting out a gasp when Paul’s hips roll upwards, searching for some sort of friction.

 

“Take me up stairs?” Paul lets his head fall back against the bar top. Daryl almost doesn’t hear him. He’s eating Paul up with his eyes. He reaches down and pulls open his white button up, launching buttons across the saloon.

“‘M going to take care of you.” He says. It sounds hoarse and rough and he leans down, pressing open mouthed kisses to his stomach that is covered in pink scars. He wants to apologize, but there will be time for that. Right now, he need Paul to know how much he’s thought of him, missed him.

He lifts him off the bar top and heads up the winding stairs. They kiss against the wall when they reach the top, Daryl trapping him between the cool wood and his hot body.

When they make it to the end of the hall to what used to be Paul’s room, Daryl pushes open the door with his foot and drops Paul onto the soft bedding below. The springs cream under his weight.

Daryl closes the door and stars to strip himself quickly. “Stop—“ Paul gasps, sitting up. Daryl freezes, worried he’s don’t something wrong. “I want to—let me undress you.” Daryl obliges and crawls into the bed, one knee between Paul’s legs, trapping him.

“Should’ve told ya a long time ago, how beautiful yer eyes are.” Daryl could get lost in them if not for Paul working at the buttons on his shirt. “You can tell me till the sun comes up, but I need you right now.” The smaller sighed pushing it off his shoulders.

Daryl helps him despite his protests, striping their clothing until there is nothing but skin left. He takes a second to look at Paul. He’s lost a lot of weight, his knee is mangled and scarred. “I nearly lost it,” Paul tells him before reaching up and dragging his chin to look at him. “It’s not your fault.”

Kissing Paul is the easiest thing he’s ever done. He never considered the way his beard would tickle but Paul’s lips are soft. Even softer when he slips his tongue into his mouth and presses their hips together.

“I want to make love to you,” Daryl says between the filthy kisses. It make Paul moan, pressing up off the mattress. Daryl can feel him throbbing against his hip and with a shaky hand, he reaches between them. He’s never touched another man like this, but Paul isn’t just some man. He’s the man Daryl has fantasized having back in his arms for months.

It catches the younger man off guard because his hips buck upwards into Daryl’s fist. “G-God, Daryl.” He sighs, letting his eyes roll back.

Paul losses it when Daryl spits in his hand and works him sloppily. He falls apart under his touch. “Look at ya.” Daryl has never seen something so sinful, the way Paul’s eyes roll back and his body arches.

He uses his cum and spit drenched fingers to work Paul open. He’s still high from his orgasm, blissful and sensitive. He whines when Daryl slips a third finger into him. “It’s enough—fuck me, please.”

Paul doesn’t have to ask twice, Daryl obeys easily. Paul is hot, welcoming when Daryl start to press inside him. Daryl has to pause and lean against Paul’s sticky chest, completely overwhelm with the feeling of Paul’s tight heat. He eased himself in until he’s balls deep and gasping. “Christ,” he whispers, pulling back slowly. He picks up a steady pace, a hand on Paul’s waist to press him down on his cock.

He’s never seen Paul so vocal. He’s whining and begging for it, his nails digging into Daryl’s broad back. His mouth opens wide when Daryl hits the perfect spot. Paul leans up to pull their foreheads together, still panting and crying out. Daryl looks up at him, licking his bottom lip while he focuses on the rhythm of his hips. “P-Please, Daryl, just like that.” He begs, biting down hard on his bottom lip, watching the way Daryl’s hips hammer into him, the delicious drag of their skin.

It doesn’t last long, Daryl knew he wouldn’t. He’d wanted this for so long that all that’s left of them is sweat and ragged breaths. He pulls out with a sloppy sound and rolls over onto his back.

He’s lost in bliss, his skin tingling. His body feels so light and calm. It’s the best he’s felt in forever, a true ecstasy. When he catches up with himself, Paul is already rolling over and draping himself across Daryl’s chest. He reaches down, pushes his hair out of his face and presses soft kisses to his forehead.

“We should probably talk about it.” Paul says, looking up at him with calm eyes. Daryl swallows and moved up the bed, pulling Paul up with him. “Why didn’t...why were ya gone so long? Why didn’t you write? Thought you were dead.” He swallows and starts running his fingers through Paul’s hair. He reaches to the night stand and turns up the oil lamp to see him better.

“I didn’t think I was going to make it. I kept getting infection after infection. Every time I thought it was gone, we would start therapy but it would get infected again. It too months to heal properly. They had to...cut it open so many times and drain it. When it finally healed, I couldn’t walk anymore.” He says. “I didn’t want to write you and then die.”

Daryl’s heart twists around and clenches. “You ain’t going anywhere.” He says, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. “Not letting you go again.” Paul is looking at him with these big eyes, shinny and content. “I felt like an idiot. For bein’ so blind, for bein’ so scared. Should have made you mine before that prick showed up.”

“I’m sorry...” Paul starts. Daryl feels like he should stop him but there so much he needs to know. “I didn’t—it took me a long time to do that, with him. He pressured me into it, saying that I owed him for teasing for so long.” Daryl can feel a shiver of anger run down his spine at the words. “He knew I was going to run back to ya—told him that I didn’t have enough room in my heart. It was already so full of you.”

Paul is running his fingers across the soft hairs on Daryl’s chest, brushing across his nipple and over his side. “Easy,” Daryl chuckled down at him. “Gonna need a little while before I can do that again.” He rolls over onto his side and pulls Paul closer to him, shifting to get the blankets over top of them.

“We don’t have to think ‘bout what happened.” He tells him, leaning in and kissing his nose. “Your home, that’s all I could ask for.”

“I almost lost it—the leg. I almost...I almost let hem take it but I thought ‘bout what it was like to ride with you.” The younger man smiles sadly. “Fought to keep it because I want to ride the horses with you again.”

At the thought, Daryl smiles and kisses him sweetly. “Remind me in the morning, I’ve got something to show you.”

Paul tries to work out of him what he’s talking about, but Daryl just yawns and holds onto him tightly, falling asleep pressed into his shoulder and breathing in his warm vanilla smell.

 

* * *

 

When morning comes, the birds are chirping outside. Daryl wakes up easily for the first time in what feels like forever, only to find the bed cold and empty. He shoots up and throws on only his slacks to run down stairs.

There, he finds Hershel, Maggie and Beth, Abraham, Rick and Michonne. Merle is walking through the door with a big grin.

Paul is sitting on the bar, kicking his feet and talking to them about how he got through and made it home.

“Daryl has been a mess.” Merle sells him out, holding back a laugh. “Oi! I’m right here!” He says from the stairwell, shirtless and lacking shoes or socks. This is what he’s pushed through the last ten months for. “You didn’t think to tell me that we have a baby?” Paul made a face at him, pretending to be hurt. It’s only then that Daryl notices the bundle wrapped up in Paul’s arms. Oh, shit. “Looks good on ya.” He hums quietly before climbing the stairs again to get dressed.

When he comes back down, Michonne is feeding baby Carl and cooing the fussy baby. Hershel is handing out plates of food. Daryl grabs Paul by his arm and tugs on him. “C’mon, I need ta show ya something.”

Paul follows him through the kitchen and into the alleyway leading to the stables. Mud is already pacing the pen, waiting for breakfast, whinnying at them. Out of the barn, steps a tall, pure white thoroughbred.

“Buttons?” Paul squeaks, looking over at Daryl with big eyes. “When I thought you weren’t comin’ back, I had to go get her. She was all I had left of ya.” He said. Paul climbed through the bars and ran a hand over her nose. “How?” He asks, kissing her head while she huffs at him.

“Traded them for my mule and a few bags of flour. She was covered in paint and feathers but she was happy. You can’t ride her for a little while, she should be giving birth in the next couple months. She was in season when she came back. I didn’t know bout it till I found Mudd prancing around all smug.” Daryl laughs a little and leans against the bars. Paul looks content with his horse. “Thank you, Daryl...I don’t know what I could ever do to repay you for keeping this place together.”

Daryl shrugs, like it’s nothing, because it is. It was all he had of Paul for so long, he couldn’t let it slip away. “Just—promise you’ll love me. That ya won’t give up on us.”

Daryl doesn’t have to ask twice, Paul grins and nods, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “ _We’ve made it this far, cowboy. I won’t ever stop loving you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Credit to the always wonderful @karuoke on Tumblr for letting me use their work. And as promised, Daryl got to hold that baby. ;)
> 
> What was meant to be a Drabble turned into a full fledged fic and I’m forever greatful for everyone who encouraged me to keep it going.


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